


One Flip in Ferelden

by eveesolo



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Humor, I have no shame tagging it as so, MCiT, MGiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Romance, Self-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Swearing, long updates, my roommate is a saint for being my beta-reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 91,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveesolo/pseuds/eveesolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did one barista end up in Ostagar, surrounded by mages?</p>
<p>Ellen wished she had the answer to that one.</p>
<p>Finding a way back home during the Fifth Blight is stressful enough, or so she thought until she met Daylen Amell, a spineless and timid mage with poor sense direction. This is the Grey Warden who’s meant to save Ferelden against the Archdemon?</p>
<p>She’s doomed.</p>
<p>
  <b>(Warning: Heavy swearing. I don't own Dragon Age)</b>
</p>
<p>Optional companion fic: <i>Two Queens in Kirkwall</i> by Flakeblood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this since last march. After a lot of editing and beta reading, I'm excited to finally publish this.  
> Thank you roommate for your hard work! This chapter is for you.

I wake up to a white blind light and a high pitch ringing sound. The sudden brightness put me in disarray, and I'm forced to shut my eyes. My living room lamp shouldn't be this bright. It can barely light up the corner of the room. From the heat I feel on my face, it must be sunlight. Did I leave the blinds open again?

With my sight temporarily out of order, my brain begins to wake up my other senses. My hearing is beginning to clear. I hear muffle voices and fire crackling sounds. Soon I hear shuffling of…feet?

I notice the pain on my back. Like a roller-coaster, it travels up my spine to the back of my neck, and finally to my frontal lobe. My brain is throbbing. I can practically feel the swelling.

"What…the hell?"

My voice comes out raspy. My throat is rough and dry, but I'm loud enough to hear myself. But it seems I'm not the only one. A few surprised gasps catch my attention. I quickly look up.

My breathing cuts in short. I'm surrounded by people, a group of older men wearing robes and small capes around their shoulders. Even with their knees bend and their back hunching over to see me, their faces are blurry.

"She speaks!"

"That means she's alive!"

"But that fall…"

Fall? What fall?! Do they mean me? I fell?

Am I in a hospital? Well that would explains why everything is so bright. As soon as I process what the doctors said, I feel all the muscles in my body ache. The pain covers from head to toe as if I just finish running a marathon. A marathon that involved me carrying heavy weight bells…holy shit what the hell did I do?

Among the men, I heard an old woman's voice, calm and concerned, "We need to heal any injuries she might have."

"Heal?" One of men speaks out. His voice sounds appalled by the idea. I take offense to it. Doctors are supposed to help their patients? It would be my shitty luck that I get stuck with an asshole one. "She might be dangerous!” He exclaimed, the know-it-all tone sounds familiar to me, “She could be-"

I don't hear the rest of his sentence. The woman shuts him down. "Uldred, do you think it's wise to make such an assumption with Templars around?"

Templars? Did I hear that correctly? I thought these were doctors?!

Something…isn’t right.

Glasses…I need my glasses! I need to figure out what the hell is going on and who these crazy people are—

My sudden panic makes my head turn. I groan from the pain and mumble an, “Ouch, damn it.”

"How dare you-!"

I feel a present kneeling beside me. The pounding of my heart beats thumps against my chest. I want nothing more than to move away. Her drawing closer makes me flint. Her soft tone hushing me to calm me down, “Can you sit up?” Her voice is more soothing when she speaks me.

I swallow my spit and lied, "Maybe." I didn’t want to flat out say no.

She also sounds familiar, but at the moment my mind is too scrambled to remember. Slowly, I raise my head and use my elbows to lift my upper body. It's more difficult than I thought. My body feels more like a two ton cement brick than flesh. My struggles go unnoticed until the woman's hand is on my back to help me sit up, again, I flint at her touch.

"I feel like an elephant just walked all over me…" I groan.

The heaviness is not there for long, it is replaced by a warm, comforting sensation. The same warmth you feel when you place a heating pad over a muscle, except its spreading throughout my body. When the feeling reaches the top of my head, I no longer feel the massive headache.

Oddly enough, the feeling doesn't stop. The sensation slowly trails down to my temples. I place my fingers on the side of my face. The tip of my fingers can feel the warmth.

The ground I sit on comes into clear view. I notice the detailing of the grey stone. It has some old age to it with how rocky it feels and its cover in dark brown dirt, small rocks, and black ash. There is small plant life growing through the cracks.

Nothing is a color blur. Somehow my vision is healed. My chest swells up and knots itself in excitement…and anxiousness. How is this even possible?

"Do you remember your name?"

Slowly, I nod. I take time answering her question as I’m still in the state of shock. "Ellen." With more confidence I repeat myself, "It’s Ellen," and then curse myself. I shouldn’t have given my real name to whoever these people are. They could be possible psychopaths.

"Ellen, do you know the year?"

"Two thousand fifteen."

Mumbles occur from answer. Some are confused, and others in disbelief. "Two thousand fifteen! Non-senses she speaks!" I withdraw myself as I the whispers among the crowd.

"Tevinter?" Another shares his concern.

"Have they developed time magic?"

The familiar voice from earlier, Uldred, immediately shatters the idea before anyone continues, "Impossible! No such thing exists!"

Tevinter? As in _Dragon Age_ Tevinter?

There’s has to be a mistake.

I wait patiently for another question, but it never comes. Every second passes, I get more uncomfortable with silence from my questioner. Ignoring my neck pain, I lift my head to see who is by my side, if she's still there. By the small crow's feet alongside her eyes, the woman is in her late fifties, maybe older. Her hair is completely white and tied back into a tight bun, and she has fair skin and stormy gray eyes. Her pink button nose scrunches down, along with her gray eyebrows.

My eyes widen and I inhale a large sharp breath as I now recognize who the voice belongs to.

Wynne is her name. She's a powerful and well respected mage from the Ferelden's Circle of Magi. Of all the magic she has mastered, the woman specializes in sprit healing. She carries herself as insightful, collected, and dutiful.

Searching for more information about the woman in front of me, my memory slaps with one important fact.

_She's a video game character._

I’m dreaming. That’s it. I’m dreaming all this.

So…why are all my senses telling me I’m not supposed to me here, that I _can’t_ be here.

I only feel this anxious if I’m in a nightmare. Could I be?

"Do you know what month it is?"

My train of thought changes tracks. "March" I answer her. My roommate had her black suitcase in hand. She waved at me and I remembered telling her to drive safe. She was going home for spring break to visit her family.

Wynne gives me a surveying look. She seems confused... and concerned about my answers. Someone decides to voice her thoughts out loud for her.

"What did she say?!"

She doesn't hesitate to ask the next question. "What is the last thing you remember?"

I close my eyes for a second. It feel weird recall my recent memory in a dream. It's more of a feeling of what I was doing than picturing it. I was doing something with both my hands, "I was...drawing I think?"

That sounds about right to me. If not drawing, then I was playing a video game or typing out a fan fiction on my laptop.

"Your memory seems to be unharmed." Wynne smiles, but it's a small one. "Or you're trying to convince us it isn't. Your answers are rather strange."

"Strange, Wynne?! They make no sense!"

"You can't actually believe her?!"

Wynne briefly looks away from me to glare at the senior enchanters, "There is some truth to what she says. She doesn't-"

"What is this?!"

The angry shout startles me. My heart is beating too fast for me to catch my breath.

Two men in grey, heavy, knight-like armor stomp towards us. The adrenaline rushes through my veins like an electric current. I withdraw from the situation by I crab walking away from the pursuers, but I don't get far as I stumble on a pair of leather boots. Their large, sharp shoulder pads and long red skirts that reach down their ankles convince me they're not knights. No, my subconscious tells me, Templars.

Wynne helps me stand on my feet. My legs are shaky as a new born doe learning to walk for the first time. If I didn't lean on Wynne for support, no doubt I would fall on my knees.

His angry voice echoes one more, "We let you mages explore the Fade and you summon a - a?!" the man points his heavy armored finger at me. "A DEMON?!"

"Demon?!" I repeat his word. I feel Wynne tighten her grip on me.

"Did I not try to tell you Wynne!" I hear a told-you-so tone coming from Udlred. "My assumptions are never wrong." This man is starting to get on my nerves…

One of the mages is brave enough to argue back. "This is not our doing, Templar!"

Another argues, "We are all here! Not one of us has given into temptation!"

They take a step back from the Templar's booming voice. "YOU ARE SUPPOSE TO PREPARE FOR THE UPCOMING BATTLE-"

My panic turns to angry, "I'm not a demon!"

Without hesitation, the Templar raises his arm to grab the handle of his sword being carried on his back. His partner follows his example quickly. I take a step back and feel something crack underneath my shoe. I don't dare take a peek, not when there's a weapon in my face.

"Don't pretend to be innocent! We witnessed you falling from a portal these mages conjured while they were in the Fade!"

"We conjured nothing!"

"SLIENCE, ROBES!"

Their words take time to register, “Falling? I…I don’t remember.” No memory of the fall comes to me, only feelings. There feelings that I can’t comprehend. This is weird. Since when does dream logic not make sense to me?

My anxiety rises. The chill feeling that I’m trespassing returns.

“You lie, demon!”

"I'm not a demon, I'm telling you, damn it!" My anger matches theirs. "If you dipshits actually take off the tin cans, you'd see that I have no tail, no deforming and decaying skin, ugly growth on my shoulders, and I'm not gushing out lava!"

The Templars ready their blades and shields. The mental image of a sword going through my stomach and dropping to my knees from the pain…isn't a lovely picture. I can feel sweat forming on the back of my neck from the anxiety.

"You'll not fool us!"

"That's a bit late for that!"

I snap back in a high-pitch tone. Not exactly the best come back to make for a situation like this. I step closer to Wynne, enough that I’m arm to arm with her. My breathing is just as shaky as my legs. I remember Anders, from the second Dragon Age game, came across someone who was being accused of demon possessed.

What he did was blast them with some type of spirit spell. The spell wouldn’t harm the person if they weren’t harboring a demon.

"Don't…don't you guys have some type of spell to tell if a person is p-possessed by a demon?!" I choke out my words.

The Templars halt for a brief moment as if they're hesitant.

"A test?" The men in armor share a glance with each other, "You suggest… such an idea?"

"How else am I'm going to prove to you blind dips that I'm not a demon?!" I didn't think I had to make myself any clearer.

"I suppose…there is a way." After all this time, Wynne finally speaks up. The elder straightens her back and looks directly at the Templars faces, "I can dispel any influences that came from the Fade. If she's telling the truth, she'll remain unharmed."

"And if she's lying?" I can hear a hiss under his helmet.

I roll my eyes at the obvious outcome, “Well dying from a spell sounds less pain than being stabbed." This is not true, of course. I rather not die at all.

The uncomfortable staring I receive from my bitter sarcasm is making me regret not keeping it to myself.

The Templars look at each other and then look back at the spirit mage. Templar number one, the one who has been arguing all this time, nods his head slowly. They both keep their shields up and leave an arm's length of space between the sword and my neck.

"Move back a few feet from me." She instructs me. I follow as I take five steps away from her. Wynne lifts her hand. A softball size glowing orb forms in the palm of her hand. Small sparks of electricity shoot out from its rim.

I hold my breath as the act is imitating. I feel my hands shake. I know I’m not a demon and I know I’m not a mage, but this doesn’t make this any less terrifying.

In a blink, the sphere of light is hurtling towards me.

I hunch forward from reflex. A small vibration hits the area of my lower abdomen and the feeling spreads throughout my body. It makes my skin crawl. I see a trail of goosebumps on my arms. When the vibrations rush down my spine, I shiver. The small hairs on the back of my neck straighten.

"Fucking hell…" I’m still trying to register what happened to me. I feel expose, as if someone air out all of my dirty laundry.

Wynne places her hands back to her side and she directs her attention back to the Templars. "As she says gentlemen, she's no demon."

The mage hunters look at each other. "If not a demon, a mage then?"

“Have to be” His colleague agrees hysterically.

Although they are not talking to me, I give them my input, "No! No I’m not!"

I can feel them glaring at my outburst. Both swords come into my line of sight. I raise both hands in the air as if I'm being placed under arrest. My angry rises once again, "I’m telling you the truth!" at this point I’m on the verge of tears.

"I can attest to this" Wynne steps forward. "As I said before, the spell I cast dispel all influences of the Fade. A mage would have been affect by this would have collapse, yet she still stands. She possesses no magic in her blood."

The men go back to their conversation of what to do with me. Templar number two suggests detaining me until they can inform their king of the situation. Though, it might be impossible to get word to him. The king is too busy preparing his army for the upcoming battle. They'll get faster results informing the teyrn. They'll keep me with the other prisoner, a runner and a thief. The Templars debate if I should be in shackles or in a cage.

I hear Uldred snarling behind me. "You placed inside a cage is a suitable solution."

My nostrils flare up and I bite the inside of my cheek. I rotate my heels so that the front of my body is facing him. Uldred's fair skin is covered in wrinkles. The noticeable ones outline his boney cheeks and his forehead. The man is bald, but from his thick eyebrows he used to have black hair. His long pointed nose is sharp enough to be a dagger. He's shorter than the avenge man. His olive green robes cover his feet and touch the dirt ground.

Seeing his face, images of the Circle of Magi being overrun by blood mages, demons, and abominations flash through my mind. ‘Broken Circle’ was one of my least favorite questlines. I remember the multiple dead bodies in every room I explored, and the walls stained in blood. Uldred is the man who orchestrated the massacre.

"Imprisonment is unnecessary.” Wynne settles them down with reason. "Her attitude is...presumptuous."

I break my staring contest with Uldred. I close my o-shape mouth that shock had made for me and press my attention towards Wynne.

She continues to persuade, "But she is defenseless. She has no physical weapon present or any armor to protect herself."

Templar number one growls, "Weapon or not she still came from the Fade-"

Wynne gently cuts off his sentence. "I haven't forgotten. I witnessed her fall, but you and I both know it's physically impossible to enter the Fade. Her situation is very alarming, and I see her as a threat as much as you, gentlemen…"

I gulp as she turns to me with a stern look, "I would like watch over her, personally. Should anything happen, especially involving magic, I'm more qualified to handle her than a mere station guard." The Templars seem satisfied though disgruntled at the end of her explanation and agree to release me into her custody.

Wynne places her hand on my shoulder and begins to guide me in the direction of the main camp. When I take a step forward, I hear the same crack as before. Almost sounds like I'm breaking glass under my foot. I remove my shoe and look down towards the ground.

"Oh shit…"

It wasn't glass I heard, but plastic. I stepped on the hard plastic lenses from my large, black frame glasses. Slowly, I pick it up and inspect the damage further. I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from frowning when I rub my thumbs over the lenses. The cracks on both lenses look like spiral spider webs. The frame, thankfully, only has scratches.

"Come."

With one simple word, I begin to walk again. Looking over my shoulder, the Templars watch my leave carefully. They return to their guarding post between two large ruin pillars. My eyes travel past them to the mages. They glare at me, especially Uldred. The wrinkles on his scowling face remind me of chewed gum that's been stepped on…repeatedly.

When our distance is far enough, they talk among themselves. I see a mixture of anger and confusion. I wonder if they're debating if they should go back into the Fade.

Entering the open camping ground, my eyes are drawn to the men and women. They are dressed in medieval robes and leather armor. Some are even dressed in heavy mail armor with blades and shields on their backs. I walk past two warriors in conversation, both carrying short swords. But not all warriors wield swords; there are those that have bows on their backs and a pack of arrows.

The camp has many large, circus-like purple tents. I worry for a moment the color might draw attention to themselves for the enemies, but then I notice the pine trees behind them. They are as tall as a ten story building; their branches hide the tents.

Up ahead, to my left, is a wooden stage about five feet off the ground. A woman stands in the middle and preaches about the Maker and his bride, Andraste, to any soldier who'll listen. Wynne and I find a comfortable spot under the pine trees next to a black stew pot the size of a baby donkey.

"Um…" I squish the glasses in my hands before breaking the silence, "So...do you really believe...that I'm a threat?"

She sighs. "I will not lie. I do, to some extent. You're in…an odd situation. I cannot wrap my head around the idea of a physical being, especially someone without magic, coming out of the Fade. It's very unsettling."

"I promise you, I'm not a threat, really!" I shake my head. "I'm just as confused as you are. I mean magic dimensional portals, I'm so calling bullshit. No crap like that exists!" At this point I'm rambling on, "I'm in Dragon Age. DRAGON AGE FOR FUCK'S SAKE! How the hell does this-" I motion my hand in a roundabout way in front of me. "-exist! It shouldn't!"

The unsettling feeling resurfaces. _I’m not supposed to be here._

"Tell me...exactly when are you from?"

"When?" I question her wording, "What? You think I'm from a different time? I thought time magic wasn't a thing?"

"Over the years, I've learned magic takes the form of many things. There's a spell, now a days, for everything…some that should never be tampered with. Controlling time is unheard of, but not impossible to accomplish."

"Why are you asking?”

I quickly apologize for my action when I see the look of disapproval she gives for interrupting her, "You said the year is two-thousand fifteen, if you are going by Tevinter Imperium calendar the year is two-thousand twenty-four. It's a few years off, but the era is still Dragon Age. The reaction you've showed me just now leads me to more questions."

"I'm not from Tevinter…" I pause for a moment, "I'm not even from Thedas."

Wynne squint her eyes a little. "If not from Thedas, then which continent are you from?"

Wait a minute, a continent? Thedas is a continent?! I thought Thedas was the world! Oh, shit, I'm in for it. Maybe I should have paid more attention to side stories and world books about Dragon Age…

I take a deep breath. "Maybe I should rephrase. I'm not from this world!"

Wynne blocks my path. I stop walking when I see her hand rising in an offensive position. "Then you are from the Fade."

I shake my head rapidly. "N-No! No, I'm not from the Fade! Shit! How do I explain this?" I bite my lower lip out of nervousness. "Ok…hear me out. How weird would it be if I said that there's a place beyond the Fade?"

She glares daggers at me. Not exactly the reaction I'm looking for. "Do you truly know what the Fade is, child?"

I pull my shoulders close to my neck and stay in that clamed-up position. "I know it's where demons and spirits come from? And then there's something about a Black City and the Maker?" I'm deeply regretting not reading the codex.

"The Fade IS the beyond!" She almost hisses. "This is why we cannot enter physically, because it's the afterlife. It's where our spirits go after death and return to the Maker's side."

"Right," I noted. "Telling you that there's a place beyond the beyond is weird…and insulting." Because who won't be pissed after a crazy person, accidently, insinuated that there's no Maker. "I'm sorry."

"As am I…you are trying to make sense of a strange situation." Wynne returns her hand back to her side. We resume our walking. I slowly trail behind her. The soldiers we pass have grim looks on their faces. The creases on their anxious foreheads are deep enough to be considered dents.

"It seems like everyone is on edge."

"This is because of the forthcoming battle with the darkspawn…"

Wynne shed some light on their current situation, some I already knew. We are in Ostagar, an abandoned fortress south of Ferelden. It's on the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds. The battle everyone is desperately preparing for is against darkspawn. They're tainted and ugly, from what I remember, creatures that have a strong desire for bloodlust. They live in the Deep Roads, enormous underground tunnels built by the Dwarven Empire long ago.

It's not unheard of for darkspawn to escape to the surface, but as of late, they have been attacking in large hordes. King Calian, the current ruler of Ferelden, has already defeated two waves of darkspawn so far. They fear that this wave might be the biggest one yet.

Wynne explains to me that it's unusual to encounter massive numbers of them unless they're suffering from the Blight. One hasn't happen in centuries, and King Calian doesn't believe the darkspawn corrupted an old god. I bite the inside of my cheek at the mention of it.

"After tonight's battle, hopefully everything will be at peace again."

No it won't. In fact, it gets worse.

"Wynne!"

Two middle-age men in long red and brown robes, similar to what Wynne is wearing, are walking towards us. They are accompanied by a Templar.

The elder woman greets them with a nod, "Horrace, Roy, is everything alright?"

"We have a message for you." The man, Horrace, stands tall. His chest puff out and his shoulders look uncomfortably pulled back. His posture is very patronizing, even has his chin and nose pointed upwards.

"And for you alone…" The other mage stares at me with an imitating glare. His tone holds a warning. Wynne and Horrace follow his example and look in my general direction.

I understand their hint, but I’m not exactly sure how to go about it. It makes sense that they can’t leave me alone.

“I…um” I suddenly feel awkward.

She cooperates, "It will not take long, Ellen, but stay close where I can keep an eye on you."

I acknowledge her request with a wave and walk towards one of the tents nearby. She nods in approval before turning her attention back to her peers. I sit on a stump, checking to make there's no poisonous bugs first, and take in my surroundings of the camp.

The air smells of pine trees, mildew, and cool dirt. Inhaling my second deep breath, I notice the air is much cleaner despite the fact that there's smoke. I hear hounds barking from a nearby dog pen, crackling from an open fire pit, and clanking sounds heavy armor makes when a person walks by.

Even with my senses heighten to new sensations it's difficult to accept that I'm here. I believe in theories on alternate universes, but that's stretching it too much for that to make any sense. _Dragon Age_ is a video game. It matters little right now how I got here. I just know I shouldn’t be here.

My fingers fumble and twist my glasses as I ponder on my new thoughts.

Home…what about my home? How do I get back? Is there even a way to get back?

I dread the possibility. What about rent, my job, my family, and my friends? I groan at the mention of friends. Oh shit, my roommate! She and everyone else are going to freak out that I just disappeared off the face of the earth!

In anger, I pop each lens out of their frame sockets. I let out a frustrated sigh when I think of time. How much difference is the time flow here to there? It'll be unrealistic of me to think that time will just stop…

Tears trail down my cheeks.

“No!” I snap. Why am thinking these thoughts!

The anxiety in this unpleasant dream is becoming intense.  I need to wake up.

"Oh, she seems preoccupied."

My thoughts shift instantaneously towards the deep and polite voice. I look up to see a man with dark brown hair and blue eyes. His hair is down to his chin, pulled back behind his ears. It's slightly wavy and frizzy. It almost reminds me of morning bed head. Some of his bangs refuse to be with the rest of his hair and hang from his forehead. His jaw is covered in rough stubble and trails up his cheeks. His skin is extremely pale, as if he never stepped outside until now. The man wears blue robes with a small purple cloak draping over his shoulders. Is he another mage?

His has a gentle demeanor that puts me at ease by looking at him. The brown hair man acknowledges me with a sympathetic smile, “Are you well, mistress?

Quickly, I wipe my tears away. “I’m fine." I lied, and switch topic, “Did you need something?"

He taken back with my question, in fact he seems startled.

"Ah, yes." The man pauses for a moment, "I need to talk to an elder of mine. I thought maybe she can help me. I am a little lost, you see."

"Lost? Somewhere you need to be?"

"Actually, I’m trying to find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair. Do you know where he might be?"

I've played Dragon Age Origins enough times to be familiar with Ostagar's layout. I look around for one of the lands marks, the armory. It's located between two paths. One is an incline slope and the other is small set of stairs.

"You're not too far off." I point my finger to a path that has small set of stairs leading to the chalice. "He's that way."

"Thank you." He nods and walks towards the direction. I watch him walk by and then stare at his back. I don't recognize him. But if he's looking for Alistair, it's a high chance that he is the Grey Warden that will slay the archdemon and save Ferelden. From his posture and tone of voice, he's polite, reserved, considerate…and has poor sense in directions. Is he lost already?

The man stop in his tracks twenty feet away and looks around his surroundings. I see a frown on his face.

I shake my head. The confused man needs help. I can’t just leave him like that.

I take a look at Wynne. She's occupied with the mages still, too absorbed in the conversation to pay any attention to me.

After a few inner motivational words, I get up from the tree stump and slowly begin to walk away. I do my best to not let the Templar see me either. The last thing I need is him screaming mad-woman on the loose and I'm thrown in an iron cage or worse…executed.

I make my way to the mage in blue’s side. "Um…do you need any help? I'll walk you to where he is."

He seems embarrassed. The brunette wears a wry smile and his shoulder scrunch up slightly. His blue eye darts towards the dirt ground and his cheeks turn slightly pink.

"I would really appreciate that, actually. You see, I don’t have sense of direction..."

I smile, trying my best not to laugh. "I've noticed," and guide him towards the platform where Alistair should be.

He breaks the ice by introducing himself. "My name is Daylen."

"I'm Ellen."

"Well met, Ellen. I can’t help but to ask. Are you a warrior? I don’t see your weapon on you."

I bit my lip. "Um…no I'm not…" I answer carefully. Short and simple answers should do. I'm not too sure if this guy will run to the authorities.

"It’s not safe for you to wander around without one."

Flashes of fire and darkspawn cross my mind.

He's absolutely right. I should get hold of small sword or bow if I'm ever to have a chance of surviving the darkspawn attacks. But how am I'm going to get a hold of anything is the five sovereign question. I don't exactly have money to buy from a black smith. Stealing is a fuck no. I'm not stealthy enough to pull something like that off, and I shouldn't give them any more reasons to have me locked up. Asking Wynne for a weapon is stretching it. She doesn't trust me, and it won't look good for her detainee to be armed when walking about.

"Don't worry too much." I smile.

He tilts his head. "Forgive my manners, but your clothes are strange. I have never seen anything like them."

My clothes are strange? I look down towards my gray Rolling Stone tank top hiding underneath my black baggy cardigan. My eyes travel lower to my black Aladdin pants covered in red and blue floral patterns. Some are faded from the constant washing. Lastly, my eyes lay on my black low top converse. The white tips are scuff with black marks and dust.

"Where in Ferelden are you from?"

I place my hands in my cardigan's pockets. One of the hands caresses my glasses' temple down to the ear tip piece. I hesitate to answer for a moment, "I'm not exactly from Ferelden. I'm from somewhere far...far away."

I hear a hum from him. "I see...indulge me then, what brings you to the country?"

There are hundred ways I can answer this, unfortunately all of them are ridiculous and crazy. I scoff at my sarcastic answer, "I'd like to think I was recruited to help a great cause."

I quickly change topic when the platform is insight, "Alistair should be up ahead."

Walking upon a scene, which I've seen countless times, is two men arguing. One is a handsome blonde with scruff on his chin, wearing heavy sliver armor with royal blue and grey padding. The armor is supported by many brown leather belts, around his shoulders, chest, and a large one around his waist. The chest plate has a pattern of large bird spreading its wings. He's arguing with a dark skin mage with black hair, who is wearing a rusty red and burnt yellow robe. Or is it burnt orange. I can't tell, because of the late afternoon sun shining in my eyes. Those two colors should never be a combination option in any outfit, but I shouldn't be the one talking with my other worldly fashion.

"What is it now? Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

Alistair motions his hand. "I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage, she desires your presence."

I watch the argument between the poor fashion sense mage and smartass ex-Templar play out for a moment or two, before I notice Daylen twiddling his thumbs in the corner of my eye. I turn my head and see the uncomfortable look on his face. His eyebrows are pulled together and his thin lips form a frown.

"You ok there?"

Daylen snaps his head to look at me as if I scared him.

“I don’t handle conflict well in my presence." The skittish mage looks back at the scene before him. "The one with the sword...I’m not too sure what to make of him. He makes me...uncomfortable."

"Actually, he's your guy. That's Alistair."

I can see a dent on Daylen's cheek. There is a pause from him. "I...see."

With Daylen being a mage, and Alistair having a Templar background, I can understand why. "You're nervous and I don't blame you. He is an ex-Templar, kind of, but don't let that fool you." I turn to him, "He's a big puppy. Sweet, kind, caring, and loyal to the end." I give him words of comfort.

His eyes soften as I talk about Alistair. I notice him relaxing his shoulders as I continue, "He's...he's definitely someone who you can trust with your life."

Daylen seems convinced as he smiles.

"You sound very sure of yourself, Ellen."

I'd like to think so. I almost never took Alistair out of my party during my first play through. I took every opportunity to have a conversation with him. I can relate to his humor, his idea of justice is similar to mine, and he's so awkwardly charming it's cute. I originally wanted to romance him, but then Zevran happened. I slightly regretted it, but I made up for it during the next two game plays.

Alistair finally speaks when the mage is done ranting on how he is being harassed.

"Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you...the grumpy one."

I try my best to hold back a laugh, but I let out an ugly snort. Hopefully that wasn't too loud. The defeated mage lets out a frustrated grunt.

"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!"

He walks away from the Grey Warden and marches toward Daylen and I. The scowl is impressive as Uldred's. His forehead is wrinkled, his eyebrows furrow in a sharp V-shape, and his eyes squint from his nasty glare. I swear I can see his fury steaming out of his ears. The man is on a one way path and I'm not quick enough to step out of the angry mage's way.

"Get out my way, fool!"

He uses enough force in his forearm to shove me aside completely. Because I'm so short, most of the pain is in the shoulder area. I glare at the back of his head as I rub the top of my shoulder.

I want to yell something along the lines of, 'Do they not teach any manners at the Circle?!' but that might offend my new mage friend beside me. I settle with cursing under my breath, "Fucking asshole..."

"Are you hurt?" I hear the worry in Daylen's voice.

I give a quick nod. "No, I'm ok."

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Alistair appears in front of Daylen, and I try my best not to gasp like a fish out of water. His sandy blonde hair is messy and flat from his natural hair oil. His stubble is more noticeable and roguish. Alistair has two small and very faint scars on his right cheek bone. I wouldn't be surprise if his stubble is covering more scars. He also has a fresh cut on his bottom lips, most likely from one of his night fights with the darkspawn. Overall, he is more handsome than the video game lead on.

Daylen's eyebrows knit together. "You are a very strange man."

The blonde warden shrugs, "You're not the first to tell me that." He then pauses and focuses on Daylen's face. I can see the mage's shoulders scrunching up, like he did earlier. I close in the space between us, enough to have my arm brush against his, just a delicate hint that he's not alone.

"Wait," Alistair raise one of his eyebrows, "We haven't met, have we?"

"No. This is our first meeting."

"I thought so, for some-" The blonde cuts himself off midsentence, "Those robes you're wearing…I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

Daylen nods. "I’m indeed a mage. Why?"

"Really?" The sandy blonde's eyes widen and he pulls his head back. "It's just you don't look like mage?" Realizing his poor choice of words, he quickly tries to recover, "Uh...that is...I mean...how interesting."

I laugh at his attempt. "How smooth."

"Hey, I'm trying to avoid being turned into a toad. It'll be difficult to fight the darkspawn with short arms and legs!"

I shrug. "I don't know. The dwarves do just fine."

Hearing Alistair's laughs makes my heart skip a beat. I feel a physical pain pound against my chest. Take it easy there, heart. You can't gush out on me. I need you to live!

What calms me down is hearing Daylen's small chuckle.

"You must be Duncan's new recruits."

My ears perk up at the last word. Recruits as in plural? No, I'm imagining things. In game, Alistair is expecting one recruit to see him.

The junior Grey Warden frowns. "I apologize that you two had to see that."

Daylen goes about the conversation normally. He shows a shy smile. "Please, do not worry. It is in the past now. My name is Daylen. I am from Kinloch Hold. You are Alistair, yes?" He extends his hand out, slowly. Alistair welcomes his gesture and firmly grabs the future Grey Warden's hand.

"I'm him." He turns to face me. Being taller than the average man, his gaze is forced to look downward to look at little old me, "And you are?"

Before I can introduce myself, Daylen speaks. "You are not acquainted with her?"

Alistair chuckles. "This is the first time we've met. Is there a reason I should know her?"

"She…" He trails off his sentence and this begins to worry me. Daylen's head is tilting to the side and his eyes squint. He's definitely concerned about something.

Realizing his voice fell silent he lets out a small cough and shakes his head side to side. His eyes immediately set back on me. "She spoke very highly of you as if she knew you."

Daylen's words alarm Alistair. His back immediately straightens and he pulls his hand back to his side. His stare hardens, and he wears the same suspicious concern as Daylen.

Daylen's eyebrows scrunch together. "Forgive me. When you spoke about being recruited to help a great cause, I assumed you meant the Grey Wardens. I thought you were a recruit like myself."

The wave of shock consumes me and I'm staring at Daylen wide-eyed.

Shit.

Shit! Shit! Fuck shit!

"How do you know Alistair?"

Great, Ellen, you gotten yourself into ANOTHER situation! You have two options. Option one is telling the truth, but that might put you under the Templars' unmerciful care. That leaves you with option two: you bullshit.

Panic sets in and try my best to have my voice steady, "Oh, well you know. People like to talk and Alistair…he's the biggest attraction!"

Alistair blinks rapidly and tilts his head to make sure what he heard was correct. Daylen does something similar, but shows a concerned frown. The two men share a glance for a brief moment. I mentally slap myself. That's the best excuse I can come up with?! He's the biggest attraction. God damn it, Ellen, you suck!

My explanation becomes more of a ramble. "Well, I mean, not him personally, but him as a Grey Warden. Aren't Grey Wardens you know kinda a big thing? There's not many of you…" Again, I mentally slap myself for my sudden mistake. "YET! There's not many Grey Wardens yet! You're obviously working on that! I'm mean that's why you're here, Daylen!"

"Very smooth," I can see Alistair's smirk growing. "I should take lessons from you."

I stare incredulously at the handsome smart ass. To enhance to my expression, I raise my hands in front of me as if I'm holding something. My fingers curl. I do my best to grip the thin air.

"Ellen, could it be…"

When Daylen begins to speak, my worries grow. I avert my eyes towards the ground and bite my bottom lip. My hands mold into fists and I hold them close to my chest. I wait for the worst.

"That you’re an admirer of the Grey Wardens?"

That...that wasn't what I was expecting. My eyes wander back to the mage's face. His grin stretches from ear to ear, as if he discovered an embarrassing secret.

"Ah…um…" I'm speechless for a moment. "Yes." I swallow the spit that's forming in my mouth and replace it with a pity laugh, "That's exactly it. You found me out! Wow, look how low that sun is!" I point to the sky as I'm taking a few steps back. "I should really get going. I have to get back to Wynne.”

But fail to escape again when Alistair slides to my side.

"Please, allow us to escort you back. I can't have an _admirer_ walking back alone." Alistair is trying his best to hold back his laugh when he emphasized admirer. His teasing makes my cheeks burn from embarrassment.

If hostility of Thedas doesn't kill me, surely Alistair's jokes will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is officially done. I wasn't expecting it to be this long. No more editing hell. I've killed and restructured this chapter too many times.
> 
> My roommate kindly pointed out some of the grammar mistake. When I posted this it was one in the morning and my fucks were asleep. But all fixed, most of it.
> 
> My roommate is my beta tester and she has same amount of patient as a saint. She puts up with so much of my shit. This chapter is for her and my childhood bestie who is new to the fandom.
> 
> Welcome to Dragon Age Hell, my friend :heart:

The junior Grey-Warden and soon-to-be Warden accompany me back to the purple tents where I first met Daylen. Alistair explains to me that this area is the mages’ living quarters It’s where they rest and have their “Fade festivities” as Alistair puts it. Daylen mentions that he entered the Fade recently. He describes the sensation as being underwater. Everything was distorted and he felt weightless. He also says there was a constant feeling he was being watched. I imagine going into a realm meant for dead people and demons would be unpleasant for anyone.

I’m thankful that he and Alistair are too distracted to ask what my purpose for being here was. I don’t think I can come up with a good (bullshit) excuse for this one. Though, any excuse would be better than answering, ‘Surprise! I’m actually a prisoner!’

In the corner of my eye, I notice white-haired figure standing three tents away. Wynne noticed my disappearance. I can see her sending a resentful glare in my direction. From this distance, her stormy gray eyes almost look black from anger.

 “Daylen, have you met the other recruits?” Alistair asks.

The mage shakes his head. “No, I haven’t. I went to find you just as Duncan instructed. I knew it would take me some time to…find my way.”

“Then it’s best that we part here.” Alistair halts in his tracks, making Daylen and I do the same. He looks at the armory across from us. “One of them is close by, I believe. He said that he needed a new dagger.”

“Check near the armory!” Panic once again sets in and I squeak out my answer.

“Well, yes? That’s generally where someone can get a new dragger.” Alistair comments. Smartass.

I take another glance at Wynne, who is marching towards me. I fear she’ll make a scene or reveal some information that will lead the only nice people I know to distrusting me. With each step she takes, my heart hammers against my chest.

 I manage to choke out, “Check the complete opposite direction of where I’m going for your Grey Warden…things and stuff!” I shuffle away from the men, inch by inch. I notice Alistair raising an eyebrow and Daylen wearing a slight frown. My neck is aching from how often I look between Wynne and the guys. My attention averts back to the Grey Wardens, “Thanks for walking me, you guys are great, but I really got to go. So… um… bye!”

I turn my heels and power walk in Wynne’s direction. I feel the burn in both my thighs when I meet with the silver haired mage.

“I was…” Out of breath, I do my best to explain myself. “I mean… there was a guy. He needed help looking for a Grey Warden.” Her enraged silence makes me nervous. “I wasn’t gone for that long…”

Wynne fold her arms. I can see one of her eyebrows raising in question, “And what do you know of Grey Wardens?”

“T-They help people against darkspawn? So I’ve heard…just now…” I tuck in my bottom lip and bite down on it. My hands grip at the hem of my cardigan as I rub the soft clothing between my thumbs and index fingers. My eyes travel back and forth from the ground to Wynne’s hardened expression.

The elder mage lets out a few mumbles. Something along the lines of, “Maker, find me strength.” She exhales a large amount of breath through her nose before speaking.

“What you did was reckless, Ellen. You’re in a delicate predicament. From what my colleagues have told me, every guard knows of your presence and even our superiors. If any of them saw that you are not with me, their first thought would be that you escaped. They will not hesitate to kill on sight. It is for the best that you don’t leave my side for any reason. Do I make myself clear?”

 “Yes, ma’am…” I babble, “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”

“Now that you understand the situation…” I flinch when her hand reaches for me, but feel relief when it’s just a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Deep breath,” Wynne tells me. I wasn’t aware I was holding my breath until I exhale a good amount through my nose.

“Do it again, and then look at me.”

My breaths are less shaky this time. After exhaling most of my anxiety out, I look up to see Wynne’s small smile. “It’s settled for now, you have nothing to worry about as long as you are beside me.” She takes a moment to examine my outfit. “Now, let’s get you something proper to wear. The sun will be down soon and Ferelden gets very cold at night.”

She guides me towards the mages’ quarters. We enter the tent, but I stay near the opening. The darkness makes it difficult to see. Sunlight is trying to shine through the purple fabric, but it’s too thick. I keep the entrance curtain open. Worn out bed rolls are tucked in one corner of the tent with crates everywhere and stacked on top of one another.

Some are open and I can see fabrics peeking out surrounding wine bottles. At least I thought they were, unless the medieval ages invented glowing red and blue alcohol. Health and lyrium potions might be a better guess. I stare a little longer at the lyrium potion. The blue liquid reminds me of the substance seen in a glow stick, thick and luminous.

“You can close the curtains. I found a lantern.”

Wynne sets a rusty, copper, cone-shaped lantern on one of the wooden crates next to her. I see her cradling a small flame in her hand. I figured she found a lighter to light the lantern. As I close the curtains, I suddenly remember I’m in a medieval fantasy time period. There is no such thing as a lighter. My vision starts to adjust to the dim setting and I take a closer look at her hand. She summoned an orb of fire the size of a golf ball. When the lantern is lit, she clutches her hand into a fist and the flame extinguished.

Wynne opens one of the trunks and searches through the layers of fabrics.

“I fear most of these robes will be long on you.” With one hand she pulls out a green rob with gold stitching. I take the robe from her and hold it up to my body. It’s about a foot longer than I am.

“We only have men robes, unfortunately. Out of the eight mages here in this camp, I am the only woman. I would lend you one of mine; however all have been damage from battle. I haven’t had time to mend them.”  

I frown slightly. “You’re telling me this army only has EIGHT mages here and that’s including the tranquil?!”

“Yes,” Wynne lets out an irritated sigh. She’s almost as annoyed with the situation as I am. “The Grey Warden-Commander has gone to the Circle to ask if they can lend more mages to fight.” I perk my head when I hear the familiar title. Neatly folded, Wynne puts away the green robe. “No matter how experienced and powerful we are, we’re not as young as we use to be. Using excessive amounts of magic everyday has taken a toll on all of us.”

I begin to grown concerned when I notice the dark bags under Wynne’s eyes in the candlelight.

“Where are your robes?” I ask, “My sewing skills are not the best, but maybe I can help?”

“That is kind of you to offer, but my robes have magical resistance spells sewn into them. Only those who have a resistance to magic can handle the material.” She states as she rummages through tunics and shirts under the robes. “We’ll make due with a tunic for warmth.”

I frown as she bypasses all the long sleeve shirts. The longer she searches through the clothes, the bigger my apprehension grow,  “Um, exactly how cold does this place get?”

 The elder woman chuckles, “You’re truly not from around here. Ferelden is known for its cold. The winter months are not to be taken lightly. Such ignorance will have you perish before seeing the festivity of First Day.”

She returns to looking through the clothes.

I tilt my head, “First Day? What is that?”

Wynne freezes for a moment and slowly turns her head to look at me with one eyebrow raised, “The day we commemorate the year’s passing”

“Oh, so you mean like New Year’s?”

She seems puzzled, “If you’re referencing it as a celebration to a new year, then yes.”

 She pulls out a pale green, long-sleeved tunic and a leather vest. The tunic is made from a rough wool texture, and the weight of it is heavy when it’s placed in my hands. It’s reminds me of the sweaters my mother would buy from a thrift store because it was comfy. If you call scratching your arms and stomach every minute comfy, then yes it’s extremely comfy. The itchier, the better!

Pouting, I place it over my head and stretch it down to my torso. The hem reaches to my thigh. It’s definitely meant for someone who is tall and has large muscles.

“It’s something at least,” Wynne tells me as she watches me put on the leather vest over my new tunic. It fits, thankfully. Already, my body heat is circulating underneath and trying to escape. I feel like a human toaster.

“Thank you, I definitely feel warmer.” I smile.

“That is good to hear, now…” There’s a pregnant pause from her as if she’s gathering her thoughts before speaking. “Now that we have you settled, there some work that needs to be done. I must speak with certain people throughout camp.” She squint her eyes slightly and in a warning tone she says, “Stay in sight and don’t speak to anyone. Do you understand?”

In times like these I would joke and say ‘No promises!’, but given the dire circumstance I’m in, and witnessing Wynne’s fury after my disappearance, it may not be best. I acknowledge her instructions. Wynne nods. “Then let’s leave. All this must be done before sundown.”

My new shirt camouflages me from stares, but I stay close to Wynne as much as possible as we walk towards our first destination, the mabari kennels.

Growing up with three dogs and having work experience at a dog grooming salon for two years, I’ll never forget what unwashed dog fur smells like: damp mold and dry dirt. I also notice a hint of pine among the dogs.  Few of the mabari announce our presences to their master with their powerful barks.

“Easy boys!” He commands.

“Ser.” Wynne greets with a smile.

“Ah, Wynne.” The kennel master smiles back, “You’re back, with good news I hope?”

She nods. “Actually I do. There’s might be a way to help the mabari that has been affected by taint. It’s not a cure, per say, but there is this flower…”

I jump when I hear another loud bark. My attention is now at the rotten wooden fence. I peek over to see five mabari war hounds sitting on their bottoms. Some are panting and others have drool coming from the corner of their mouths. Taking a closer look at these short coated beasts, they’re similar to Bandogge Mastiffs, but on steroids. Their face muscles are stretched tighter around their skulls. The only loose skin they have is the wrinkles scrunched up on their muzzles. Their razor sharp teeth can put a bear trap to shame, and their height is no joking matter. Their heads are the size of volleyball and they reach up to my waist. That’s terrifying to a petite woman like me!

“It’s best to not lean against the fence like that” I hear a raucous voice, “These war hounds bite, and hard enough that you’ll lose a hand.”

With that disturbing imagine in my mind, I let out a nervous laugh and take three steps back. “No doubt, they’re pretty big. I’m sure they can take out a bear or two no problem.”

The kennel master bellows out a gargling laugh. “I bred them that way! But now they’re killing damn darkspawn! Hardly a challenge for them!” He holds his head up with pride, “The bears put up more of a fight than those bastards and they’re the one with weapons!”

But shortly after, he frowns. “Unfortunately, my best one is infected with the taint. The mabari is stable for now, but not improving…” He distances himself from the fence so that I can see behind him a separate pen. A lonesome tan-coat mabari is lying down with his eyes shut and paws crossed. His head is buried in his muscled arms, and his is nose twitching. The poor baby is growling in pain. I want nothing more than to jump over the fence and hug the hound.

“I’m hoping that’ll change with the herb Wynne told me about.” The man expresses his gratitude towards Wynne with a smile. “I’ll spread the word right away. Thank you again.”

“I wish you all the luck, Ser.” Wynne taps me on the shoulder. “Ellen, it’s time we leave.”

I wave goodbye to the kennel master and silently follow her to our next errand. I’m back at the cross roads between the slope path and the path with the small stairs, the same place Wynne found me with Alistair and Daylen. The smell of smoke is strong in this area. A trail of black ashy smog is puffing out from the armory’s little brick fire pit.

Wynne’s focus is in the opposite direction. Across from the shop is mage mixing herbs and liquids at a wooden table. It’s like an outside laboratory with the red potions on display. He’s mixing ingredients with straight posture and his expression completely deadpan. I could’ve easily mistaken him for a statue if he hadn’t been moving around.

 The difference between him and the other mages I’ve met is he has a marking of a small sun burned onto his forehead. It’s the brand of tranquility, if I remember correctly. A tranquil mage is cut off from the Fade. They lose their ability to perform magic and they can never dream again. They are also suspended from using the part of their brain that enables them to feel. No emotion means immunity against demon possessions.

Seeing in person how unexpressive a tranquil is plants a seed of fear in me. It sends chills down my spine how lifeless they look.

Behind the tranquil is a chest full of useful goods. It contains potions and a dagger, I think. Whatever supplies are in there will help me survive the night. Getting the key isn’t difficult, but it is disgusting…

I remember a certain prisoner has it in his possession. It’s most likely the same one the Templars mentioned. He’s doing jail time for the wrong crime. I’m fuzzy on the details, but the guards caught him sneaking around Ostagar at night and assumed he was a deserter. He’s a thief, I recall him saying, not a betrayer.

How can he be a betray an army that he was never a part of? He claimed. The man is guilty of getting the tranquil mage drunk and stealing his treasure key. He swallowed it when he got caught.

Oh, that’s a clever way to hide the evidence! Some people might think, but do I have news for them. From personal experience, swallowing copper or metal objects hurts. It is HELL crapping it out, and there’s also the obvious chance of damaging your digestive tracts. Say your intestines get split open? That person would die from stomach acid or internal bleeding! That’s painful way to go in my opinion.

If Daylen hasn’t visited the prisoner already, I might have a chance of getting the key. Sorry Daylen, but I don’t know how else I’m going to get supplies without stealing.

Wait…wouldn’t this count as stealing too? Just because I have a key, that doesn’t make it alright to take whatever’s in the chest. Damn conflicting game logic!

“Damn morals!” I hiss.

“Excuse me?” Wynne turns her gaze towards me and raises an eyebrow.

A dry cough escapes me. “Nothing, I’m just arguing with myself.”

“Of course you are.” She rolls her eyes at me. It seems whatever I say doesn’t surprise her anymore. “I must speak to a colleague of mine. It will only take a moment.” No warnings are given when she steps away.

She glances over her shoulder to see if I've moved from my spot before speaking to the emotionless mage. I can't hear their conversation, but I see lips moving. It's a shame I can't read lips, but it must be serious if Wynne has her back straightened and her arms crossed. Her eyebrows are scrunched together, and she frowns after she's finishes talking.

Minutes pass, but it feels more like hours when you’re standing in one spot doing nothing. I take a deep breath and shortly choke out a cough from the forgotten burning smoke. The armory is ten feet away from me and I think of Daylen’s safety advice. The armory sells a variety of weapons and there is no harm in taking a look at the wears. I need to get an idea of what kind of weapon I can handle on short notice…

At least that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s not easy to overcome the curiosity I have for point sharp objects.

I glimpse over towards Wynne once again; this time her back is turned to me completely. Besides her and the Tranquil, I don't see anyone else in a twenty feet radius, including the quartermaster, the very man who runs the establishment.

It’s just quick peak. It’s necessary, and it’s not as if I’ll be out of sight. I’ll be right across from her in plain view. I found the small confidence I needed to walk towards the armory.   

The outside shop smells like nothing but burning wood and iron. Sweat drops begin to form on my neck from heat of the open-flame fireplace. I roll up my sleeves to help cool myself off and roll my pants up to my knees. I stare in awe of how spacious the armory is. It’s twice as big as it was in game. There is a line of stuffed dummies wearing leather and chain mail armor to my right and a table with matching boots and gloves. Unlike the armor, the weapons are scatter everywhere. Wooden short bows, maces, swords, axes… every weapon imaginable is in sight. I see bundles of arrows unevenly stuffed in boxes under the tables. I walk towards the armor to get a better look and even get a feel. The leather is rough under my fingers. I can see the uneven snitching around the shoulders.

My attention is drawn to the chimney-like fireplace behind the wears. Underneath there are ashes and burnt firewood pieces. I remember my art professor giving a lecture that back in the medieval ages, when artists couldn't afford paint; they would use burnt wood as charcoal. I squat down to reach for some wood. It’s a little warm, and the wood leaves a black smear as it crumples in my hands.

“What are you doing on the ground?” A grumbling voice calls from behind.

Startled, I quickly get up from my spot. Instead of dusting the dirt off my pants, I hide my hands behind my back. Standing behind me is a tall, round, white man. He's balding from the top, but still has his side hair and scruffy brown bread. Dealing with coal and burning wood all day, his long-sleeved dark yellow tunic and leather vest is covered in black powder.

“Well, girl?” He asks with a growl this time. “Answer me. What are you doing on the ground?!”

“I…um…” I stumble on my words make the quartermaster angry.

In a booming voice he says, “You’re stealing, aren’t you! I knew it! I caught you!”

“What?!” his words dawn on me, “No!” Accusations are like a sport to these people! Does the concept ‘innocent until proven guilty’ not exist in their world? I’m starting to understand how people end up in dungeons so easily in the medieval ages.

“A thief and a liar!”

A table stands between us, but that doesn’t try to stop him from getting his hands on me. The worn out table wobbles every time he lunges in one direction. I scramble in the opposite direction to keep our distance. My heart races faster with every close encounter. A small ‘meep’ squeak escapes me during our chase. I hated the pursuit of being chased. Panic over takes me.  I feel my heart brutally beating against my chest.

He grunts. “Stay where you are!”

This is nightmare is getting too real. I need to wake up.

_Wake up, please!_

The ominous chant recur in my mind, _you’re not supposed to be here._

I have always felt a sense of belonging in my dreams (even in the unpleasant ones). When I lose that comfort, I end my dream. So, I don’t understand why I’m having difficulties waking up?!  

“Ellen, are you finished?”

The quarter master and I end our table dance and turn our attention to the new voice. We see Wynne with a hand on her hip, cocking her head to the side, unhappy of course.

“Finished?” I question her nervously. My mind shifts to a new focus.

For a moment, I thought she would reply with ‘acting like a fool’ or something along those lines. Instead she sighs. “Yes, finished browsing? You haven’t lost interest in replacing your dragger have you?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No…?” I’m confused about her questions. I’m pretty sure I’ve never mentioned to her that I need a weapon. My eyes trail back to the quarter master and something clicks in my brain. She’s trying to defuse the situation I’m in. With more confidence I say, “No, I…I haven’t lost interest.”

“She’s one of yours, mage?” The quarter masters straighten his back and his glare is directed at Wynne.

“Yes, she is. She’s belongs with me. I was attending a sensitive matter with a colleague of mine across from you. She noticed your wears and I didn’t see the harm of her looking around. I didn’t realize your armory was unattended, forgive me. Had I known, I wouldn’t have let her wandered.”

“You’re damn right, woman!” He growls and points his index figure at me, “I caught her about to steal something!”

“That’s not true!” I plead Wynne. I’m already enough trouble as it is with her. I don’t need this dick’s slandering.

“I don’t tolerate liars in my presence!” His face is getting redder with each shout, “Get out!”

 She’s not fazed by his reaction. Wynne bows her head slightly, “As you wish, we will just be going now.” Her stormy grey eyes have a cold stare to them, “Come, Ellen.”

“But--!”

Firmly, Wynne extends her hand towards me and slowly motions her hand back and forth. I’ve see this gesture many times when mothers call for their children after being caught doing something they know they weren’t supposed to do. I sigh in defeat and drag my feet towards her, but not before giving the quartermaster a nasty glare. He smirks victoriously. I wish I could punch it right off his face.

Getting the last word in, he yells behind us. “And don’t come back!”

It takes all my strength not to turn around as we backtrack towards the kennels. The armory gets smaller and smaller behind us, just like the anger inside me.

Looking at my feet, I quietly tell her, “Thanks for what you tried to do for me back there.”

“I thought I could trust you not to move.” Her tone tells me she’s irritated. I can imagine her glaring. “You’re making supervising difficult for me.”

“I told myself it would be a quick look, but you’re right I shouldn’t have moved…” I exhale a large sigh. “It won’t happen again.”

“See to it, Ellen. This is your final warning.”

“He just--” I grunt in frustration as I recall quartermaster’s behavior. “I was just on the ground, that’s it, and he knows it. I don’t get why he was overreacting!”

“He is an aggressive man.” She tells me, “You intruding his work space most likely provoked him.”

I place the black wood in my cardigan jacket under my tunic. I do my best to dust off the residue. We pass the barking mabari. The kennel master is inside the gate, holding two wooden buckets at chest level. He tries his best not to get tackled to the ground when feeding his war hounds their meal.

“I’d understand if I was near any equipment, but I was by the damn fireplace! I was a good five feet away from anything.”

Wynne hums. “My guess, you were close to discovering were he keeps his illegal goods. He wanted to draw your attention away.” Briefly, she looks amused.

That rings a slight bell. When I first met the quarter master, as a Warden, he was very subtle about having _other goods_. He wanted keep it on the down low. Though with his hostile behavior it seems like he doesn’t want ANYONE to know he has them. I imagine his deals being done at the dead of the night. When a solider comes to visit, the quartermaster will ask if he came alone. If the soldier says yes, he’ll double check by looking in all directions to see if he was followed before they can conduct their business.

I remember that his inventory consists of certain weapons, armor, bombs, and poisons. Deathroot extract is definitely something I remember. The soldiers already carry weapons and wear armor; I don’t understand how those are illegal. I can understand the possibility of bombs and poisons being banned. They’re dangerous, but these are trained warriors. They can handle themselves, can’t they?

“It’s no secret he sells bombs and poisons, but they are prohibited for the King’s sake,” Wynne unintentionally answers my question. It’s not for their safety, but for the King’s.

We walk towards a large fire pit surrounded by broken pillars. The fire is at least five feet tall and burning as bright as the sun above us, maybe even a bit brighter. The afternoon sun has definitely lowered itself since the last time I looked up in the sky.  A group of five men stand near the bonfire, two of them wearing familiar grey armor with royal blue, long-sleeved tunics.

I recognize Alistair right away. His back is straight and listening quite intensely to the man with the matching uniform. The man is tall, the tallest among the men, and well composed. His armor compliments his dark brown skin. I notice that his Grey Warden chest plate is larger compared to what Alistair is wearing. The dark skinned man has his black hair pulled back into a low, messy ponytail, and his beard reminds me of a small bird’s nest. Grooming is not much of a priority when facing the darkspawn.

His appearance is slightly different than from the game, but that’s definitely Duncan, the Grey Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

Wynne and I arrive in time to see the senior Grey Warden dismissing his recruits.

“Wynne, how nice to see you.” Duncan acknowledges her presence.

Wynne greets with a kind smile, “And you, Commander.”

Daylen and Alistair seem surprised to see me. The two other potential Grey Wardens, Ser Jory and Daveth, are confused as to why we’re here.

“Ellen?” The male mage is unsure how to greet me.

“Hi, Daylen.” I give him my biggest smile. I can feel the dent of my dimple against my right cheek. Shyly, I wave in my greeting.

“You’re accompanied by a senior enchanter,” He gaps, “How is it that you know her?”

I frown. I didn’t want to respond that question. “It’s…complicated. Actually, it’s pretty personal.”

Luckily, he accepts my answer. “I won’t press on any farther then. Honestly, I was hoping we’d meet again. You left in a panicked state. I thought something had happened.”

I hum, “Well kinda… I got in trouble.”

“Rightfully so,” Wynne clears her throat, “You knew to stay close to me.” I can feel her hard stare drilling a hole at the back of my head. “And yet you wandered, knowing how… delicate your situation is.”

“I consider twenty feet away still staying close by.” I turn and give her a cheeky smile.

I’m face with her unimpressed scowl, “Your humor leaves much to be desired.”

“Part of it is my fault,” Daylen pipes up quickly. Wynne and I focus our attention to the nervous looking mage, more nervous than how I’m feeling. Daylen twiddles his thumbs together, and his shoulders are hunched. “Ellen was only helping me, Wynne. I lost my way around camp, you see, and she knew the layout of Ostagar and was kind enough to be my guide.”

Wynne’s scowl is now a stern glaring.

A frightening chill runs down my spine and avoid eye contact with her.

Damn it. Damn, damn, damn it!

“I…um…”Gulping down my nervous spit and my cheek smile is now fake, “I- I found a map of Ostagar and memorized it?”

 The elder mage’s gaze doesn’t soften, “A discussion for another time, Ellen.” Her attention turns to Duncan, “By the looks of our numbers, you were unsuccessful in convincing the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter to lend more mages to fight for Ostagar.”

He bears a grim face. “I asked, Wynne. Knight-Commander opposed leaning more mages because he fear their new given freedom will cause an uprising.” He shifts his eyes to Daylen. “He was very adamant about Daylen not leaving, even after I conscripted him to the Grey Wardens.”

“I see…” Wynne restrains herself from saying anymore. Her demeanor changes as she directs her attention to Daylen. “You couldn’t pick a finer man, Commander.”

Daylen whispers Wynne’s name out, almost surprise to hear the compliment.

“I know of your talents, Daylen Amell. The First Enchanter spoke highly of you. You were one of his best apprentices. It’s a few days too late, but I must congratulate you on your Harrowing.”

Amell? As in Hawke’s mother’s side of the family Amell?! He’s related to Hawke, future Champion of Kirkwall and protagonist of the second _Dragon Age_ game?

This is a small world…

The mage’s cheeks redden like a blushing bride. “T-Thank you, Wynne, it means a lot coming from someone like yourself. It was a terrifying experience."

“Yes, that experience will serve you well in the Korcari Wilds.” Duncan looks toward his recruits, “The woods can be dangerous, especially at night. I suggest going now if everyone wishes to be back by sunset.”

Alistair bobs his head. “He’s right. Those cute little woodland creatures won’t be in a happy singing mood after dark.”

“Small animals will be the least of our concerns, compared to what lurks out there,” Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe, speaks in a solemn tone.

“They might be small, Ser Jory, but sly enough to hide and when the moment is right, swipe!” Alistair swat his hand like a cat, “You’re eyes are being clawed out.”

“Alistair,” Duncan grabs his disciple’s attention. The blonde Warden immediately puts his humor aside to listen to his Commander. “Watch over your charges. Return quickly, and safely.”

Duncan receives a reassuring nod from him, “We will.”

The Commander’s eyes lay on each recruit, “Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.”

“As you, Duncan. Daveth said there was a demon lurking in camp.” Daylen voices his unease.

“Aye, I was told she has a long sharp tongue and flowers blooming from her legs!” The shortest of the men speaks. Daveth places one hand under his chest as if measuring something, “Her tongue reaches pass her chest!”

Are they talking about me? The Templars did call me a demon…did a rumor get spread?

The young mage frowns, "I haven’t heard of such a demon, none the less, please be careful."

Duncan shows him a small smile. “You have nothing to fear, Daylen.”

Satisfied with his answer, Daylen walks behind his brothers-in-arms. The future recruits follow Alistair in a line as if they’re playing ‘follow the leader.’ Daylen gives me a small wave before going through a large wooden gate, which stands as tall as the pine trees.

Curious with the pervious conversation, I look towards the elder mage, “The demon they talked about. Did they mean? I’m the walking rosebush demon?”

“Who’s to say they’re roses?”

The smugness in her voice makes me snicker, “You’re right. It’s too cliché!” I tap my finger against my chin, “Daisies then? That just screams death bringer!” I get a small chuckle of Wynne from my poor flower humor. The moment is gone as soon as she regains her serious posture.

“I assume you’re enlightened of her situation, Commander?”

It’s hard for me to resist rolling my eyes. It’s seems like everyone in this camp is _enlightened_ of my situation.

Duncan gestures his head, indicating that he has. “I am. I was informed by Uldred not long ago.” His line of sight is directed at me. “He has quite… an opinion of you.”

“I’m sure he does.” I bob my head slightly. I force a fake happy tone, “He and his opinions can go shove it and rotate.”

I receive a disappointed look from Wynne, but an amused hum from Duncan. “Ah, first thing he mentioned was your repugnant behavior.”

“Repugnant?” I snap. Offended doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. “The only thing repugnant is that man’s fuc--”

 “Young lady,” Wynne harshly interrupts me, “Finish that sentence and you’ll only be proving Uldred right.” I cross my arms, like a pouty child, and grumble the rest of my sentence. She continues her conversation with Duncan, “Do you sense any taint in her?”

He shifts his head, “No, she’s not a darkspawn.”

I almost miss the conversation. “Wait a minute…” I tilt my head towards Wynne, “You thought I was a darkspawn?”

“Uldred and others had their suspicions. They wanted me to take you to Duncan. I wasn’t going to because the thought was impossible…” She pauses, as if she’s collecting her thoughts, before speaking, “Until you spouted you’re from a place beyond the Fade. I couldn’t take the chance that I was overseeing a darkspawn.”

My mouth slightly drops as I try to process the unbelievable accusations. “I think I’d rather be called a demon.”

Before Duncan can elaborate more on my situation, he straightens his back. His pupils are dilated. Whatever stands behind me has his full attention. Wynne looks in the same direction. Her shoulders become stiff. She immediately clasps her hands in front view. Their sudden stance is making me nervous. I notice the sound of heavy armor clunking together, and it’s getting louder.

My curiosity gets the best of me and I avert my focus to what’s behind me. The feeling of anxiousness immediately weighs heavy on my chest when I see blonde hair.

A handsome man with shoulder-length, light blonde hair approaches the three of us. The massive dragon head breast plate and the golden seams in his black tasset shimmer in the sunlight as he walks. Never have I seen golden armor look imitating. There is a confident smirk under his golden stubble. The moment the golden man reaches us, I glue myself to Wynne’s side. I’m almost afraid to move an inch.

“You’re Majesty?” Duncan announces the King of Ferelden’s presence. Wynne shows her respect by bowing her head slightly and her arms cross over her chest. The man standing in front of me has prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin and nose. His smile is refined and holds bountiful charm. These are clear signs that he’s comes a line of blue bloods.

“As I said before, Duncan, you don’t need to be so formal in my company.” He grins from ear to ear childishly. His honey brown eyes lock on to mine. “So this is the girl that fell from the Fade?”

I pull my cross arms closer to my body in hope to feel some security.

King Cailan is an overconfident glory junkie that wants nothing more to show off, but I also know he’s a kind man. I remember reading somewhere that he was fairly close to his soldiers. However, this doesn’t give me enough comfort. He is law. My life is hanging in the balance of this man’s opinion of me.

A thought like that puts me on edge.

_You’re not supposed to be here_. A familiar chant overwhelms my brain. The urge to panic quickly rises.

The king tilts his head in confusion, “Are you… feeling well?”

My throat is dry, “Yes. I’m fine.”

“By the look in your eyes, one would think the darkspawn were already attacking” He lets out a lighthearted laugh, “I do have that impression on people, being royalty and such, but you have no need to be so stiff. But what kind gentleman would I be without properly introducing myself? I’m Cailan Theirin, King of Ferelden, and your name?”

I bow my head slightly. I’m only imitating what I’ve seen in movies. I’m not sure how present myself to royalty. I choke out, “Ellen, your majesty”

I didn’t offend him because he smiles pleasantly. It almost makes my heart skip a beat. It is possible to be terrified for two complete different reasons? The first one has already been establish, power to behead me, and then the second one is his attractive appearance. Holy shit, I am a mess in the presence of handsome men.

“Well, Ellen, you’re in good company.”

I’m not sure about ‘good’ when I see an out-of-breath, scowling middle-aged man trailing behind the King. This man generates tension with his presence. There are two thin braids in his dark hair. Both braids shroud his low cheekbones. His large beak nose engulfs half his face, and nutcrackers would be jealous of his square jaw. His sliver heavy armor is not as flashy as King Cailan’s.

“Your Lordship,” Duncan declares his attendance.

A trigger of images flickers through my mind. King Cailan and his soldiers are fighting on the battlefield. They’re overwhelmed by the darkspawn, but there was hope. There were soldiers placed and ready to ambush the enemy. Loghain was to give the order of attack, but he sounded a retreat back to Denerim. King Cailan, Duncan, and the warriors fighting are slaughtered. Many lives are lost by his hand and he still continues to take lives after he declares himself a regent for the Queen. He risks a civil war, and with the Blight, more warfare is the last thing Ferelden needs.

 I can feel a switch being flipped from nervous wreck to boiling fury when I stare down at the man in sliver.

“Your majesty!” The man in sliver scolds, “I advised you to stay away as I investigated this matter.”

“Loghain, this is far more interesting than the battle strategies you bore me with!”

I can see the Loghain's jaw tighten from his frown and a small dent forming on his right cheek. It's almost as if he's biting down on it.

“To be honest, you’re nothing I’ve imagined.” King Cailan revert his attention back towards me. “From the rumors, I pictured an overgrown she-demon covered in poisonous flowers. Some of my men claim-” He positions his hands to make it look like he’s holding something circular and brings it to his chest, “They’ve seen a large mouth with razor teeth where your breast should be." He isn't afraid to share his glorious imagination.

I assume the normal reaction would be to feel insulted, pissed even. No, I feel baffled. As a video game addict, I developed a habit to use the games I’ve played as reference to comprehend to people’s ideas. There’s a particular game that comes to mind, and it only makes this situation strange.

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, “What is this? Digital Devil Saga?”

I’m getting contradictory looks from the people around me. Realizing what I just said out loud, I cover my mouth and feel my face radiating heat from embarrassment, “Please ignore that…” I retreat to Wynne’s backside when the King steps closers.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? Dig what?” Curiously, the King asks.

I gulp and choked out, “Digital Devil Saga… it’s a ga—I mean, it’s a story where I’m from.”

“And this demon I describe fits your tale?” The King’s smile only seems to grow.

“Kind of…?”

“I know of some demon tales, your majesty,” Loghain Mac Tir intervenes. He stands close to the King, acting as his shield, “The morals that I’ve learn from their fables are that looks can be deceiving.” His settle hint has the King straightening his posture and his smile disappears.

 “Mage, she’s been under your watch. Have there been any indications that she’s truly a demon?”

Wynne slowly distances herself from me as she speaks, “None, Teyrn Loghain, and she isn’t an abomination. There is no amount of magic present in her blood.”

This information peaks King Cailan’s interest, “But she came from the Fade?”

I bite my tongue to remind myself to not say anything on the matter. It’ll only lead to trouble. Wynne was ready to blow my brain out with magic. I don’t want to imagine King Cailan’s reaction. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, and my life, I need to keep quiet.

She nods. “Yes, and the last time a living creature came out of the Fade, the first Blight commenced. It is why I brought her to Duncan.”

Loghain Mac Tir looks nearly astonished. He whispers the Maker’s name as King Cailan is fascinated. He’s eyes lit up, and his grin stretches from ear to ear. “Truly? You thought she was a darkspawn, one of the Ancient Ones from the Black City itself?!”

Duncan steps in to address the issue, “And moments ago, I confirmed that she’s no darkspawn.” I can see the conflicted feelings on the King’s face. His lips are puckered and his eyebrows are squeezed together. Relieved that I’m not an enemy, but he’s disappointed that I’m not a darkspawn? His pouting reminds me of Alistair's expression so strongly. The family resemblance really is uncanny. He’s definitely Alistair’s (super-secret) half-brother.

Wynne quickly grabs the men’s attention. “It is something we’ve never encountered before, your majesty.” She gives him a slight bow out of respect before continuing. “We’re trying to make sense out of the situation as best we can, but the Fade is a mystery all on its own. There are still secrets the realm has not revealed to us.” For the first time in a while, Wynne glances towards me, “However, she’s of no help. Upon her fall, she suffered some memory loss.”

It’s not a complete lie, but the excuse sounds suspicious enough that I receive leery looks from the Teryn.

“When I woke up, I was having trouble remembering what I was doing before.”

“Where is it you hail from?”

I lie immediately, no explanation is better than an impractical one, “I don’t know, I just have a sense I’m somewhere far away…”

“Strange…” Loghain lets out a huff of frustration, “How our brains choose which memories to _preserve_.”

He gives me one last distrustful glance, and I gladly welcome it. My arms return to my side and I straighten my back. His underlying threat doesn’t scare me, but enrages me.

“It seems there’s not much we can do. Since we concluded she’s indeed human,” Loghain retort to his diplomatic self and I suddenly feel expose as his eyes trails down my figure, “and unarmed. I’ll put this investigation to rest. Now, we must take our leave. There’s still much preparation to be done and a battle strategy to perfect.”

“I believe we can be blind folded and we still come out victorious, Loghain.” The King says jokingly, but his expression is exact opposite.

I see his forehead crease and a slight frown. I blink and suddenly his confident character is back with his glorious smile facing us. Maybe it was my imagination? Him being worried or even being anxious? That doesn't seem like him at all.

“I’ll allow her to stay under your watch, Mage.”

“Of course, Your Lordship,” Wynne addresses Loghain with a nod.

“Ellen, I would love to hear that demon tale sometime.” The King ignores the disapproving look from his Teyrn, “Tomorrow perhaps?” His smile is captivating.

I know there won’t be a tomorrow for the King, but my heart takes pity. I nod at his request. “S-Sure, tomorrow.”

“Excellent!” Cailan takes a step back without breaking eye contact, “Tomorrow then!” He lingers in our conversational circle for a moment or two before Loghain beckoned him to come. The King walks away towards two, large, cream colored tents south of the bonfire with a grin on his face.  A snarling Loghain quickly follows behind him.

“That… went surprisingly well? Yeah? Maybe…?” I comment when they’re out of ear range.

Duncan hums in agreement, “They established rumors were rumors once they saw your appearance. It’s their duty, however, to assess the situation to put their men at ease. There are more important issues at hand.”

“Yes, and the King being taken with you also helped,” Wynne chimes in.

“T-Taken?” This woman is going to be the reason by my neck snaps in half. “Taken how? What do you mean by that?” I see the woman smirking. “Wynne?!”

She ignores me completely. “Since that is taken care of, I must take my leave as well. As the Teyrn said, there’s much preparation to be done. I need to heal the remaining soldiers.”

“Then do take care, Wynne.” Duncan nods slowly.

“I will. Thank you, Duncan, you do the same.” Wynne smiles at the Warden Commander.

She still continues to dismiss my frantic whining as she guides me to the north side of camp. Realizing that I’m not going to get anything out of her, I grumble to myself. I’m embarrassed to admit that she puts enticing thoughts in my mind. King Calian being flirty with me, it’s inconceivable! He’s was just being nice and he’s married!

The mean old mage leads me to an area with small cream colored tents and many cots set up to the side. I’ve counted twenty so far and lying on each cot is an injured body. There are a few women dressed in red and golden robes attending to them. Soldiers that have mild injuries sit on beaches near the tents, and those that have lesser wounds stand near their comrades.  

“Wynne! Thank the Maker you’re here!” A high pitch voice gets me attention. A young woman wears the same robes as the women helping the wounded. I notice a large sun pattern on her chest, similar to the tranquil’s mark on his forehead. The symbol represents the Chantry. It ensures people that whoever wears the sun are servants of the Maker.

“Yes, Sister, and not enough time I’m afraid. Quickly, gather all the remaining elfroot potions, herbal poultices, honey, and rags we have.” Wynne begins to roll her sleeves of her robes. The priestess nods and run towards a small white tent.

“Sit nearby the tent unless you wish to assist in passing out the potions,” Wynne takes a deep breath and mumbles, “Maker knows we’ll need all the help we can get right now.” She leaves with a sense of urgency to the soldiers lying on the cots.

The scene is hard to take in. There’s no point in doing in healing the soldiers or preparing for battle. Practically no one is going to survivor. It’s a lost cause!

I take a closer look at the scene before you again. This time my focus is on Wynne performing what I assume is a healing spell on a warrior’s arm. Her hands glows an angelic gold. It reminds me of Tinker Bell’s pixie dust.

I guess that’s not entirely true. Wynne survives, and so does Ulder (unfortunately) and the Grey Wardens. What about me?

_You’re not supposed to be here._

The ire thought returns and it causes me to physically shiver.

This dream is becoming too real for me to handle. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t belong. Even with all these thoughts, I still can’t wake up. Why the hell can’t I wake up?!

_Something is wrong._

I’m on the verge of tears and there’s an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I can’t help but think this is my fault. My present is changing things, possibly not for the better. If I continue to tag along with Wynne there’s a chance she’ll die.

_I could die._

The fear sinks in and the tears stream down my cheeks like a waterfall.

I don’t want to die. I want to fucking wake up!

“Damn it, I hate crying.” I wipe the tears away quickly. The pride in me refuses to cry in public. I search for an area that can give me enough privacy to ball my eyes out. Inside the tent, I thought.

I power walk towards the medical tent as the tears begin to trail my face once again. I was expecting the sister, but turns out I was alone. I sigh with relief and plot myself down in the far right corner, hiding behind a stack of crates.

I didn’t hold any tears back. I let them fall, snot and all. I cry out what was stressing me: the frustration of not waking up, the fear of dying, the fear that I’m living in a nightmare, and the guilt that I’ll be held responsible for Wynne’s death or anyone else’s that supposed to live.

I quiet my whimpers when I hear the tent’s flop being flipped open. I focus on keeping a steady breathing pattern through the mouth since my nasal is currently congested. Through the cracks between the crates, I see the sister who greeted when earlier.

She opens one of the lone crates in front of me, and dips her hand inside to grab a potion. She manages to cradle six red glowing potions in her arms before leaving. I observe this woman coming in and out of the tent, always in a rush.

I frown, there has to be a better way to get the potions out.

The fourth time I watch her leave; I wipe the snot on my sleeve and slowly stand up from my hiding spot. I make my way around the stacked crates and walk towards the open one in the middle of the tent.

I frown as I estimate more than thirty health potions. Carrying a handful at a time seems like wasted labor. As a barista, time means everything when working effectively. I start to look around the ground for some type of small bin or a smaller crate I can place the potions in. I find something better. In the front of the stacks crates that I was hiding behind is an old, dirty leather rucksack. It’s large enough that it can be mistaken for a vintage school backpack.

In one swift motion, I grab the bag and start stuffing it with potions along with honey jars and rags from a nearby table. I bent half my body into the crate to grab more potions to carry out in my hands. As I push myself out with one arm, I accidently kick the crate’s top and stub my big toe. I nearly drop the potions I have.

I curse out loud and glare at the object. Too busy being angry, I almost didn’t notice the wooden square is same size as a large serving tray. Suddenly an idea occurs to me, and one by one I set the potions on the crate top.

Like clockwork, the sister enters. “Hello?” She greets me, but it’s obvious in her tone that she’s confused as to why I’m inside…on the ground with potions. “Can I help you?”

“Hi…um…”

Quick thinking, Ellen, that’s doesn’t sound suspicious at all!

“Wynne,” I begin as I put together a complete sentence, “She said I can help. That I can help pass these out,” I point to the potions.

The mention of Wynne’s name has her glowing, “Oh! Wonderful!” She relaxed as she approaches me. “We can use all the help. Thank you.” Her kindness makes me smile a little. I watch as she reaches into the crate to rather a hand full.

“Gather as much as you can and start giving them out to the soldiers in need.”

I nod and with careful maneuvering, I manage to lift with my knees and balance a tray of twelve potions on my right forearm. The chantry maiden stares at me with horror.

“Maker’s breath! Do you need help?”

I sway my head, “If you can get the tent open that would be great. I’ll start passing out these out.”

For hours, I serve soldiers elfroot potions like a waitress and nurse their wounds with herbal poultice and honey. I know honey can be used for many things, but I would’ve never guessed that it can help heal infections. I studied Sister Thea, the greeter, spreading the thick liquid on a cut of someone’s knee.

I shadowed her as she tends more soldiers. She shows and explains to me how to bandage a wound properly. I didn’t expect for her to have me try with the next warrior. I was nervous, shaky hands don’t do well when trying to wrap a clean cut.

It takes me a few tries. I’m lucky enough that the warrior is a woman of patience. I eventually get the hang of it. After tending the fifth soldier’s injury, Sister Thea feels confident enough to leave me unsupervised so that she can continue attending the rest of the soldiers.

I’m wrapping the last of the clean rags around a warrior’s arm when Wynne calls me over. Night has already fallen and the only light source around us is a large fire pit. Wynne is sitting on one of the cots. Her back is hunch forward with her hands resting on her knees. She looks exhausted.

“I’m glad to see your efforts in helping the soldiers.”

“Yeah…thanks, I mean you said I could…” I muffle.

Her smile is weak, “Please bring me a lyrium potion from the medical tent. I believe that there’s one more left.”

I frown as it will be her third one. Lyrium I know helps replenish mana for mages, but drinking too much can’t exactly be good for the body. I keep the comment to myself as I go and grab a glowing blue elixir from inside medical tent near us.

There’s still one crate left full of elfroot and lyrium potions. My wobble knees drops to the ground and I gasp. It’s moments away from the gory battle; soon this fortress will be overrun with darkspawn and spilled guts.

The overwhelming stress isn’t enough to awaken reality-me.

I curse and rephrase mentally that I need to escape. I need to escape with Wynne before that happened. We need a head start.

The only word that comes to mind is: Preparation.

I need supplies for our escape. I decide to fill my pack as much as I can. God, Maker, or whoever only knows I’m going to need it tonight. I tighten the strips around my shoulders so that the rucksack is glued to my back.

When I return, I expect her to chug it, like the last two, but she take sips of the lyrium. The outside infirmary is nearly empty. The only warriors left behind are those who are suffering from the taint.

Anxiety builds in my chest when I see soldiers walking by with ready weapons in their hands. The darkspawn will be here soon to attack the fortress, and I have nothing to protect myself. A dark cloud of thought lingers that there’s a good chance I’ll lose my life tonight.

“Afraid?” Wynne speaks.

I snap out of my mental state and make eye contact with her, “W-What?”

“You’re trembling and you’re taking short breaths” She points out, “Are you afraid of your losing life?”

I gulp and nod slowly, “I… Yeah, I am. I’ve never been in battle before, but I would feel better if I had a dagger or something.”

“Do you know how to defend yourself with a dagger?”

I frown. “No…”

Wynne sets the empty glass bottle on the floor. “Then it’s not of much use. Learning how to use a weapon while in combat will get you killed more quickly.”

I stay silent at the comment. She breathes out a heavy sigh. “I understand what you’re going through. Unfortunately the only comfort I can provide is telling you that we’ll be stationed at the gorge aiding the archers when the battle comes. We’ll be above the main battle itself. If all goes as planned, we’ll be able to live in peace for a short time.”

Everyone is going to die is I want to tell her. We should escape right now.

The images of the bloody battle are already playing through my mind. Cailan signals for the mabari to attack the wave of darkspawn first. The archers ready their bows and set their arrows on fire. Hundreds of them fly across the night sky and try to hit their intended running targets. The ogre brawls his way through both armies and attacks Cailan. It takes the King in his hand, like a doll, and snaps his spine with little effort. I shiver when I envision Cailan’s eyes rolling towards the sky, his mouth gaping wide. Duncan takes down the ogre out of revenge.

“Duncan,” I think out loud. I can tell him. It hasn’t happened yet, maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe I can save him and King Cailan too!

“What did you say?”

I stand up from the cot with haste, “I need to find Duncan.” I jog in the direction of the fire pit surrounded by the stone pillars near the Korcari Wilds gates.

“Ellen!” I hear my name calling out, “No! This is hardly the time! Your--”

“I’ll be right back!” I shout over my shoulder and put enough distance between us that I can’t hear anymore of her protests. At the pit, I see a lone figure hanging about. I notice the grey and blue uniform as I get closer.

“DUNCAN!”

I seize his attention. He slowly turns his head in my direction. “Ellen, what are you doing here? The battle will begin soon-”

“I know! I know!” I take a moment to catch my breath. He waits patiently with his arms crossed. “There’s something I have to tell you… before you join the fight…” I can already feel a knot in my chest. He’s not going to believe me. What if he reacts the same way as Wynne?

“Ellen?” I see the confused look on his face.

“Fuck it!!” I swear to myself and mentally tell my doubt to go screw itself. “Duncan, this is probably going to be the craziest thing you’ll hear, but you have to believe me when I say this. You’re not going to survive this, same with the King. You’re both going to die if you don’t leave right now!”

I point in the direction of Tower of Ishal, the same tower that will signal Loghain’s men to join the battle. “When that beacon is lit at the top of that tower, Loghain’s men won’t come. You have to get King Cailan off the battlefield and run as far as you can from it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You have to leave!” I begin to ramble with animated hands, “If you and the King die, then Ferelden will go to shit! The Blight is rising! But everyone will be too fucking busy with a fucking Landsmeets to care. They’ll be on a verge of a civil war!”

“ELLEN!” Wynne shouts my name. I turn my head and I see her motioning her hands for me to come to her. For a calm old woman, she has a pair of lungs on her. I curse under my breath and glance at Duncan once more. If he has any mixed feelings of what I’m telling him, he’s hiding it well.

“There is no time to explain how I know this. It’s fucking crazy, I get it, and--”

Duncan halts my sentence by raising his hand halfway, “I know what you ask of me, and you’re precisely right. Now is not the time to ask about your given knowledge.” He hesitates for a moment, “I’ll heed your warning. I’m sure it wasn’t easy telling me this…”

I gasp, “Holy crap…” The feeling of relief washes over, “You believe me?! I swear I’ll explain everything after all this and…” I stop myself from going on another ramble. “Thank you for hearing me out. Stay safe, Duncan.”

“To you as well,” Duncan gives me small reassuring smile, “Now go, you’re needed elsewhere.”

I nod and take a step back from the Grey Warden Commander. I continue to walk backward knowingly Wynne is waiting for me. Eventually I face forward to walk properly, but I keep looking over my shoulder to see Duncan. The thought of never seeing him again weighs heavy in my mind. I pray this is not the case.

A frustrated Wynne awaits me on the other side of the dirt field. However, I stop in my tracks when I notice her figure and everything around her becomes blurry.

I have my old sight back. I don’t understand how. Wynne healed me.              

“Wynne! My sight went bad! I can’t see!” I shout.

The white blur comes closer in my direction. She’s close enough that I can distinguish her face.

“I tried to warn you before you rushed off. I knew the spell was bound to wear off at any moment.” Her lips are thin from frowning.

 Confused, I scrunch my eyebrows together, “What spell?”

“I placed small provisional spell on you before questioning. It sharpens the mind and helps a person focus. I feared that you might have suffered a concussion, and it was for temporary relief. My goal was to not get conflicting answers, however…”

I groan as I’m reminded of the odd answers I’ve said when I first woke up, “No, I get it! You don’t have to say it.”

“You didn’t suffer from a concussion. Your symptoms would’ve appeared by now. This is good.”

“That’s great and all, but I’ve no way of seeing. My glasses broke.”

Wynne acknowledges my stress. “I can heal your vision. It will take time though, time we don’t have, unfortunately. What I can do is cast another provisional spell, and we’ll begin the healing process tomorrow.”

My insides are screaming. There won’t BE a tomorrow for Ostagar!

“Can’t fight darkspawn blindly,” I sigh as I discourage myself from auguring with her.

“If all go as plan, you don’t have to fight darkspawn at all.”

She places her hands on my cheeks and I feel the same comfortable warmth from earlier. It takes moments before my vision is clear and sharper than before. I can see perfectly for miles away. I must have been making a face because I hear Wynne say to me, “I strengthened the spell this time. It has to last the duration of the night.”

“Thank you.” I swallow my nervous spit, “Wynne, there’s something I need to tell--”

“We stood around long enough. Come, let’s head to the gorge.”

I couldn’t get a word in as we make our way towards a large stone bridge. It’s the only bridge that connects Ostagar to the King’s Highway. The men and women are standing ready at the edge with bows in hand. A hand full of soldiers prep the two ballista catapults. Wynne is circulating between soldiers for last minute checkups and casting any booster spells needed. Within the hour, everyone is on the battle field. Despite my fear of heights, I look over the edge of the bridge. Those who are standing on the front lines look like raisins.

“This…is really happening.” I say to myself and I look forward. In the distance, an ominous sea of torches is head right for us.

_Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP._

“It is good to know I’m not the only who’s nervous.”

Looking over my shoulder, I see Daylen in his new Grey Warden armor. I step away from the edge to admire his outfit more. He traded his robes for a royal blue brigandine and a stripe tabard. His knee high boots cover over his black pants. His brown leather vambraces are a snug fit on his forearms.

“Blue, it…looks good on you” I show him a lopsided smile. He avoids my gaze and rubs the back of his neck nervously. I can see his cheeks turning pink from embarrassment, “Congrats on becoming a Warden.”

“Thank you, Ellen.” He shows me a sly smile, “I’ve been told that Grey Wardens bear many burdens. I can see that now, and I gladly accept them as my own.” Silence falls between us. Daylen twiddle his thumbs and his shoulders hunch close to his neck. “The King asked Alistair and I personally to go to Tower of Ishal to light the beacon. I’m honored, but I can’t help but feel anxious about the task.”

“You have nothing to worry about.” I do my best to lighten his mood, “I think the worse enemy you’ll be facing is a flight of stairs. Leg cramps are THE worst!” I earn a chuckle out of him, but his twiddling thumbs don’t ease up. Calmly calling his name, he finally looks at me in the eyes. I give him a reassuring smile, “You’ll be fine.”

I feel that was more telling myself than to him.

“I envy your optimism.”

“I see you’re visiting our biggest admirer.” Alistair strolls in jokingly. Daylen chuckles and I’m surprised I have the energy to roll my eyes at his playfulness. My worries disappear when I see Alistair’s smile. Butterflies are fluttering in my chest as he stands next to me. For a moment I forget that I’m standing in the mist of war.

The happiness is short lived when I hear unearthly roaring.  

A bellowing voice echoes throughout the field, “ARCHERS!”

Over the edge, I see a platoon ready their bows and aim their flamed arrows towards the sky. On signal, they fly across the field, most hitting their destined targets.

“HOUNDS!”

A large number of mabari charge at the horde of darkspawn.

“FOR FERELDEN!”

I hear battle cries echoing throughout the camp and soldiers charging at the enemy, just like in gaming cut scenes. The men on the bridge joined in on their comrades’ outcries. The enemy starts launching burning boulders in our direction. Five incoming, and only one hits the bridge. I scream from the heavy impact. I hadn’t realized I huddle against Alistair until he place both hands on my shoulders. He shields me from the soldiers who rush onto the bridge. They run pass us like mad bulls. One manages to bump into Daylen’s shoulder. The Grey Warden mage flinches from the pain.

“We need to get to the Tower of Ishal!” Alistair shouts over the chaos.

Daylen acknowledges him, “Maker, watch us all.”

“I’m sure he’ll send a dragon to save us if we were in any REAL trouble.” I roll my eyes. That comment was mainly meant for me, but the two Wardens over hear.

Daylen gives me a mirthless smile and I can hear Alistair mumble, “I’d pay a sovereign to see that.”

They say their goodbyes to me and take off across the stone bridge. I silently pray none of flaming boulders will hit them. Screams and swords clashing resonate throughout the camp. The anxiety builds in my chest as I realize there is no place for me to hide, I don’t possess any weapons, and at any moment I can get smashed in by one of those burning enormous boulders. If I’m remembering the layout right, this is the only bridge that leads outside of Ostagar. My only hope of escaping this bloodbath is mildly on fire and covered in dead bodies.

“Ellen!” Wynne calls to me. The elder mages hurries to my side and search for any present wounds one me, “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, “No, I’m not hurt, just freaked out.” I’m in a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.

She pats my cheek. “Once the beacon is lit, Loghain’s men will come and the darkspawn will have no choice but to retreat. Hang in there child.”

“Darkspawn on the gorge!”

On the other side of the bridge, archers are screaming as they fall against the ghoul-looking creatures. The darkspawn have tight, glistening grey skin. So tight that I can see the enormous muscle tissue and razor sharp teeth. What terrifies me more is their armor and weapons are painted with fresh enemy’s blood.

“An attack on the bridge?! How?!” One of the soldiers is outraged.

“Kill every single bloody thing! For King Cailan!”

All the soldiers nearby charge fearlessly, but one by one they fall dead.

“Maker be dammed!” Wynne curses as one of the warriors she was assisting is decapitated by a hurlock darkspawn. Only two claymore wielding soldiers remain.

A few of those monsters notice her presence. They bypass the heavy armored men and immediately charge towards us. I feel the adrenaline pumping through my chest. Wynne gets in a defensive stance and begins firing white magic energy in the form of bolts. Two, four, six begin to drop. She takes the blood-lusting creatures out with ease, but I’m starting to notice her heavy breathing and the sweat forming on her brow.

The magic she’s casting is taking a toll on her. She didn’t rest enough after partially healing every wounded soldier in Ostagar, casting protection spells on every archer on the bridge, and then casting an extra-strength provisional vision on me. I fear she won’t last long on the field.

But what can I do? I have nothing in my pack but elfroot potions. I don’t care what Wynne said. I need a weapon, and at this point, any of them will do. I scan the bridge; there are many bloody dead warriors in the path, and all have weapons. The closest solider has a crossbow gripped in his hands, and a fully loaded quiver of bolts on his back. Near him is an open bag full of glass flasks with amber liquid. Are those fire bombs? They have to be. The darkspawn are a good twelve feet away and distracted with tanked warriors.

I drop my backpack and without thinking, I sprint towards the figure. I have a hard time stopping myself and skid past the body. My knees and hands break my fall. I feel the sting of pain, but completely ignored it when I hear an ugly gargling cry. Over my shoulder, four darkspawn notice my flashy entrance and run in my direction.

I crawl towards the dead body and extend my hand to grab the rough leather. The first darkspawn is only a yard away and closing in quickly. Panicked and without hesitation, I take out one of the bombs and throw it right at the hurlock’s nose. I wasn't too sure how these things work, so I wasn't expecting it to go off right away, but I'm glad it did. The impact of the blast has the darkspawn falling onto his knees and shielding his face. Unfortunately, I was close enough to the fire flash to cause myself temporary blindness. Large blue and purple spots block my vision.

"Shit, that stuff burns," I curse to myself. I take the loaded crossbow from the dead soldier’s hands and aim for the creature's head. With a pull of the trigger, I shoot at his eye socket. The ugly thing screams and falls forward. The stone welcomes his face. The goal was his forehead, but whatever works. The thing is fucking dead.

I didn’t notice the second one, a genlock, was on his comrade’s heel until I hear another cry and the axe above his head.  My reflexes kick in and I cross my arms in the shape of an x above my head. Pointless, I thought, because he’ll only chop them off and then my head.

The impact came, but I feel numbness instead of pain. My arms are still attached to my body, though I’m covered in a transparent gray cloak with dark gray and brown cracks. It’s similar to the stone on the bridge. The darkspawn is as confused as I am, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to slice me one more time. I deflect his attack with my arms once again.

He doesn’t get a third chance as he’s knocked back by a bolt of light.

I turn around to see Wynne on one knee trying to catch her breath. “Wynne!” I rush to her side after yanking the quiver of bolts off the dead body. I help get her back on her feet.

"I’m fine," She struggles to say.  I see the last two warriors trying to retreat towards us. The darkspawn are well on their tails. They caught up with the men quickly, and stab them with their razor blades. Blood spills from soldiers’ mouths as they cry out in pain. The gore is something you see out of a horror film.

Dear fucking universe. This is worse than any film because I can smell the copper and smoke.

Three hurlocks run towards us with a swords and axes in hand. Wynne grabs my wrist and shoves me behind her. "Stay behind me!" Her left hand glows again, but a different color. It’s a green aura with a smoke pouring out. It’s almost like she holding a green dry ice.

Suddenly I feel a vibration my feet. The shaking gets more violet as I see Wynne manipulate the stone underneath the darkspawn feet. The violent quake forces the stone bridge crack and one by one they fall through it.

A new fire shines in a black sky. The beacon at Tower Ishal is lit.

“Thank the Maker, the signal is lit.” Wynne’s saves show some relief, “Loghain’s men will be here soon.”

"They're not coming." I blurt out hysterically. 

Wynne, over the death screams, hears me. "What did you just say?"

"Loghain's men aren't coming. They retreated, by his orders!" Before I continue on, I throw another bomb into a darkspawn crowd running towards us. I doubt it took out any of them, but temporarily blinding them will buy some time.

“How do you know of this?”

I frown. “My answer is under the crazy category, unfortunately. I don’t have time to explain it!”

She glares at me and is about to protest my pitiful answer, but quickly shuts her mouth once we hear animalistic, gargling growls coming closer. It’s not the best time to argue. We're in the middle of a blood bath against darkspawn. We can’t afford to be distracted. We can’t give them the opportunity to strike us down.

“If what you say is true, Ellen, our first priority is to survive. Heading north is our best direction from escaping the hoard.”

I nod as I gather my pack full of health potions. I put the quiver of bolts on my back first, then my backpack. This will give me better access when I reach behind my back and I know the quiver will still be in place. The bags of bombs are in my left hand and the crossbow in my right. I feel hopeful with them in my possession.

“Then we need to go.”

Wynne straightens her posture. “This bridge is the only way out of Ostagar.” Her hands begin to glow an earthly green again. “Stay close to me, Ellen.”

This time, I listen to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long, sorry about that. I didn't realize I was writing two chapters at once! I'm seeing a pattern that my chapters seem to be get longer and longer each time I write. I had to split this chapter up. The next part will be up soon!
> 
> I also edited my first two chapters, no major changes that effect the plot.
> 
> Again, I would like to thank my roommate because she had to put up with my whinny and bullshit. My goal is to make this fic as realistic as possible and she helps me keep that focus. Love you!

My lungs feel as though they’re on fire.

The burning sensation tightens the air ways in my throat. My chest is in pain from the constant heavy breathing. It has been ages since I’ve done intense running, possibly going back to middle school. I joined a summer soccer league, trained for two hours every three days. I would walk two miles every day with my dad and the pups to keep up the exercise. Though, that didn’t do much since soccer involved running, no walking.

Remembering my breathing regiments can only get me so far.

_In. Out. Keep going._

I daydream in my spare time, but rarely did I image scenario of where I am being chased. I absolutely hate the feeling. It triggers fight-or-flight instinct within seconds. Who can act accordingly with their heart pounding against their chest and their adrenaline pumping violently through their veins? Not me. My head isn’t on straight when I’m under that type of pressure. 

Partial blame goes to a pc game by the name of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. I get immersed in all my activities. Nine-year-old-me was traumatized by the bathroom troll chasing after Harry with a club in a form of a mini game.

_In. Out. Now is not the time to fuck up._

My mental mantra breaks as I hear a grunt of pain coming from Wynne. She’s not far behind me, maybe by a yard? Briefly, I glance over my shoulder, but immediately get a scolding at by the elder mage.

“I am fine.” She says sternly, “Whatever you do, don’t look back! It will only slow you down.”

I’m surprised by her age that she can keep up with me, even if I am drastically out of shape.

There are ungodly growls from behind. The darkspawn that came out from the Tower of Ishal pursued Wynne and I after we crossed the bridge. We haven’t stopped running since. There is a mile distance between us, though it will only get shorter if I don’t return my focus back on running.

“Urgh!”

I lose my footing on gravel in the dirt road. I felt the small, loose pebbles under my shoe, but the slip was too sudden for me to regain my balance. Out of reflex, I use my hands to brace my impact. My wrists hurt from the sudden support of the hundred and eighty pound weight.

“Ouch. Fuck me,” I groan and mentally curse at my thoughts for distracting me. My hand, for the second time, scrapes against the ground. The stinging pain of the dirt digging into my small cuts has me hissing again.

My father has always joked, ‘the only way to avert your current pain was another pain.’

What fantastic timing to remember that advice.

Wynne screams, “No, Ellen!” and rushes to my aid.

The darkspawn draw near. The sound of their charging feet has made my body paralyzed. In horror movies, it’s a cliché for the victim trip during the chase from their predator. I would roll my eyes at the scene and mentally yell, ‘If you want to live so badly, run. Don’t just lay there! How hard is it to get back up, seriously?’

Well, arrogant-me, the answer is: it’s _very_ hard.

Fear is an overwhelming stress. I’m learning right now, it will make your body play possum, and _shut down_.

This is the part of the nightmare I usually wake up from…

My breath intake becomes short to the point I feel like I’m choking on the air.

_SO WHY AM I NOT WAKING UP?!_

Tears are beginning to build up as my worst thoughts are coming true. I’m not going to wake up from this. I am going to die in this dream reality, and probably in the most painful way possible. My chest tightens as I think what will happen to me after my life is taken? Is there really an afterlife? A heaven of where my soul will lay to rest? Will I be alone in this paradise?

 I’ll never see my family again. The image of my younger sister and my dad mourning over my death breaks my heart.

_NO!_

I should not be thinking these thought. I should NEVER being thinking these thought.   _I will see them again_.

_It’s just a dream!_

If this damn twisted realistic nightmare is so determine for me see this through, _then fuck I will!_

I found the courage to lift my weight with my shaky arms. Wynne is at my side. She’s bending forward to grabbing my under arm. Hurts like a bitch when she tries to help me up.

A sudden explosion of heat is press against my back and makes me lose my balance. Wynne curses as she plunges to the ground with me. My tunnel vision is blinded by white and orange lighting. The immense heatwave reminds me of open oven door. It’s too much to bear. My tears didn’t provided enough moisture, and I’m forced to shut my eyes to save them.

Dry eyeballs is the last thing I need right now! Fuck damn it.

The murderous war cries turn into shrieks.

For moment, it seen everything is at stand still. The anticipation has a tight hold on my heart.  I expect a stab in the back, a choke hold, or just something to happen!

Another moment has passed, and still nothing.

I’m almost afraid of getting my hopes up.

“Maker’s mercy…”

Wynne’s breathless whisper makes me curious enough to gaze up at her. Her expression is startled, her eyes widen and her posture stiffens. She’s so captivated I could mistake her for a mannequin.

I have enough strength to flip on my back. I struggle for breath as I see the abyss of burnt darkspawn corpses. The dirt highway road is now a paved in black crisp ash. The foul smell of burning flesh and charcoal makes me nauseous.

“Holy shit…”

Before I can comprehend my spinning headache, my breathing becomes nonexistent, and I feel a burning sensation in my throat I haven’t felt in years: vomit. I’m immediately on my hands and knees and hurl.

I spit and cough out the rest. “That’s gross…” Unfortunately, the spinning doesn’t stop. Wynne gets on her feet then helps me get on mine. It’s a struggle with my trembling legs, I have to lean on her for support.

“Take a deep breath and look forward.”

I inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth. A roar echoes throughout the forest. It’s powerful enough to shake the pine needles off the trees surrounding us. Wynne and I glance toward the direction of Tower of Ishal.

At the very top of the tower nests an enormous dark maroon dragon with a wing span of five football fields. The burning building reflects her magenta sheen. Her chest puffs out and chin rise to the sky. With another bellowing roar, she spews violet color fire at her enemies around the tower’s perimeter.

“Holy fucking shit…”

Wynne tugs me harshly, “This is our chance. We need to keep going. Now.”

I curse at the roughness; she’s strong for an old woman, but she’s also right. We’re only safe for now. It won’t take long for darkspawn to catch up with us. I dry off whatever tears I have and wipe my mouth with my sleeve. My focus is now set on following Wynne and keeping up with a steady breathing pattern.

Luckily, fleeing on the main path, it wasn’t long until we run into a company of survivors. Ten breathless soldiers come out of the forest on our left side.

“Survivors, Captain!” A solider announces. “No armor!”

“Archers, move behind. Protect them!” A man wearing heavy armor with a z-shaped scar on his cheek commands.

It takes me a moment to realize they were being chased by a group of darkspawn. They emerge out of the thick forest trees. Without a lyrium potion and out of mana, Wynne is forced to rely on the four archers to protect her. I can already feel my body becoming stiff as the darkspawn charge towards us.

No, not again. I can’t. I will not let fear take over again. I need to do something. I have to do something, anything!

I line myself with the archers and hold my crossbow to aim.

“Ellen, don’t!”

Against Wynne’s digression, I load my first bolt with some struggle. I eventually figured it out, but by the time I lift my crossbow to aim an archer stops me.

“The way you aim is horrific!” One of the archer’s growls in disapproval and tells me hold my fire. He continues to complain that I’m only wasting supplies if I try to shoot and my duration of loading a bolt is too long. He barks that I’m not fit to be on the battle field and to stay back with Wynne.

I’m discouraged enough to listen.

When the last genlock is killed, a different archer comments on my combat in battle, “A person with your skill shouldn’t be holding a weapon.”

Thank you for the fucking reminder, random soldier guy.

“I-I’m sorry.” I stutter and cower behind Wynne.

“Enough!” A booming voice grabs our attention. We look towards Captain Z scar. “We’re not safe yet. We can talk about this as we travel.  Few miles more down the main path, and then we’ll make camp in the forest. Understood?”

The warriors grunt, but they have their orders and make their way north on the gravel road. Wynne follows them without hesitation after giving me a scolding glare. Her courage gives me the confidence to travel with them, however I keep my distance.

Hours of walking (at least that’s what it felt like) in the dark, I eventually walk side by side with Wynne. The dark terrifies me. I’m lucky I’m not alone, however every little noise I hear, like an owl’s hoot or a wolf’s howl, makes me jump. She and I follow the remaining soldiers into the forest to rest. We find a small clearing on a hillside. I can oversee Ostagar burning up in flames, like a frat party bon fire. The perfect view, actually.

Soldiers flock to Captain Z for leadership. He orders for three soldiers to scout the area to locate for darkspawn and to bring any survivors, “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

I pick to sit under a pine tree far away from away from the fire. I slide my back against the hard bark as I sit down. My lungs are burning and my legs are shaky. Everything aches, but I’m alive. I lived through the worst part of my nightmare, something I never done before. However, it’s not enough to wake up from this.

Logic, feelings more like, suggests that this is what it’s like playing Dragon Age on nightmare mood. I chuckle at the twisted humorous thought.

Some of the men get a fire going, a small one. We can’t draw too much attention. I hear their gossip about the high dragon carrying two men in her claws. “Probably her dinner,” one says. The men continued, my heart weighs heavy when I hear that King Cailan perished. One had witnessed Duncan slay the Ogre that killed their beloved king, but was soon overwhelmed by a crowd. What happened to Loghain’s men they wondered. Were they ambushed?

At this point, I know to bite my tongue.

Wynne accompanies me down on the ground, “Lothering is five day journey. I suggest you get your rest.”

Sleep? Like hell I can. How can anyone sleep with the darkspawn and show up at any moment?

Wynne’s face has aged twenty years over the course of a few hours. She reminds me of a corpse. Dark circles under her eyes look like bruises. Her lips and cheek have lost color to them, possible from her mana being completely drain.

“I think you need more than me,” I point out, “You look like the walking dead.”

Luckily, she finds it humorous instead of offensive. I get a small chuckle out of her, “I suppose I do…”

“We found more survivors!” One of the scouts, a blonde woman, announces. She steps out of shadows of the tall trees with fellow solider wrap around her neck. Her grip is on his belt to help support his limping. We watch as their make their way to the middle of the camp.

The captain immediately assist carrying the wounded solider, “A broken leg.” He quickly notices the tree branches are being used as splits and the rush job on the wrapping of the leg. He reaches out his men, “He needs immediate attention. Do we have anything?”

 Wynne stands with urges, “I’m a healer, let me take a look at him.”

I stand up as well and follow her. As soon as the blonde scout and the captain set the wounded solider on the ground, Wynne begins to heal him. The fire pit provided plenty of the light for her to examine the condition of his injury. She closes her eyes and takes a sharp inhale. She sets one hand on his calf and her other hand on his thigh. The casting white glow is dim and flickers like a dying lightbulb. The effort into healing this man is taking all of Wynne’s concentration.

At this point, she’s running on fumes. She doesn’t have enough energy to cast another spell, or any other spell for that matter.

“Thank the Maker you’re a mage with healing magic.” Captain Z’s expression relaxes. I see his worry forehead crinkles unwind.

Moments later, a different warrior rushes to our side as soon as Wynne finishes her healing session.

“Did I hear right? There’s a healer? We have someone else who’s wounded!”

“I’ll have a look,” She tells him in a calm and professional tone, but her strenuous effort of getting back on her feet goes unnoticed. Wynne fall back down on one knew with her nose flaring up from her heavy breathing.

“Wynne, you’re over doing it!” I exclaim with worry, “You need rest.”

“I can rest when I’m dead,” She argues.

“At this point, that’s not long ways off.” I spat out bitterly. “Take your own advice. Take a break, let me try handling this? I have potions and maybe some poultice left.”

The soldier, along with a few others within hearing distance, looks hopeful, “Are you a healer as well, an apprentice?”

Wynne objects with a snort, “Hardly.”

I shoot her a stern glance, “I know enough.”

“Just because you attended the wounded for several hours-”

I cut of her lecture, “I’m not saying I’m an expert. I’m saying I know enough that I can help out long enough for you to get some rest! That’s it! Damn it.”

Wynne is taken back at the volume of my voice. Guilt immediately consumes me and I mumble an apology. It’s wrong of me to snap, but I feel so…angry. I’m angry at myself for feeling so useless. I can’t keep up with the running, and I’m horrible at handling my crossbow.  Also, I’m failing to wake myself up, which is something I’ve never had a problem with until right now.

She returns to her composed state, “Very well…” There is a small pause before she continues, “I’ll leave this one to you, and those who need healing beyond this, until I’m at full strength. I trust you’ll make a judgment call if the injury is too serious for any potions or poultice.”

Happy that she’s complying, I nod, “Yes, I’ll tell you.”

“Good, then go.” Weakly, Wynne motions her hand to dismiss me. A small smile escapes me. I mumble a thank you as I set my cross bow and fire bombs down by her side. I promise to return to her soon.

I eye at the pleading solider, “Lead the way.”

He nods his head and leads me across camp to a young man sitting on a tree stump cradling a bloody tunic against his left shoulder. The sight startles me. Dear fucking hell, I hope that blood is not ALL his.

“He got slash when dragging two of our men to safety. We don’t have rage large enough to wrap his wound. Do you have anything for him?”

A feeling of uncertainty washes over me. None the less, I nod, “I think so?”

“Then I’ll leave him to you. I need to check on the rest…”

“Um, sure. That’s fine. Come to me if anyone else needs help.”

He gestures his head to bow and turns on his heel to attend to the other soldiers whom he arrived with. I truly hope he doesn’t. My spark of confidence has been extinguished.

I turn towards the direction of the man sitting on the stump. He looks so young; it makes me wonder if he even reached into his twenties. His black hair is messily combed to the right side of his face. His harsh blue eyes are focused on his injury. They complement his hair color and pale complexion. The man’s muscle definition is massive, it’s no wonder he was able to drag bodies. I could mistake him for Hercules. It’s difficult to overlook his handsome features. He has a strong jaw line and large cheekbones.

I step forward to him and announce myself, “Uh… hey there.”

His piercing blue eyes glance at me. They’re full of confusion, as if wondering why I’m speaking to him.

Nervously, I swallow my spit. “I’m not exactly a healer, but um… I’m here to take a look at your injury. Can I see it?”

I can see the gears turning in his head, though I’m unsure if his thought process. If he stares at me any longer, this is ordeal will get extremely awkward. He mumbles something under his breath, and slowly he removes the cloth.

I approach him and bend down to examine the wound better. I’m not a doctor, I know that. All knowledge I have about injuries come from crimes shows and a human body course I took when I was a junior in college. However, that’s not saying much. My average grade was a ‘C.’ I didn’t have a knack for memorizing body parts.

The wound was recently attended. It isn’t so bloody thankfully, and from the looks of it, it isn’t too deep. The bleeding has stopped for the most part. It reminds me from a quote from the _Mighty Python and the Holy Grail_ : ‘It’s merely a flesh wound!’

Though, the size is a bit unsettling. It’s a long as his bicep.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“Only when I move it,” He grunts.

 His voice is guttural… and very familiar. I place my thoughts to the side and focus at the task at hand. I set my pack on the ground and stand on my knees to be at eye level with his wound. Damn it the guy is tall. I dig through my potions for an herbal poultice. I’m pretty sure I had two left.

“Ah!” I fish it out of my bag. “This should take care of it.” I place it in his hand as I dig for any cleans rags. Minutes of searching, there is none to be found. I curse mentally, how can I wrap his wound then? I can up with possible solutions. Reusing the ripped up tunic he has is out of the question. It was filthy in dirt and blood. There’s a good chance his wound will be infected if I use it. The only solution that I can up with that I can make happen right now is by tearing apart my black cardigan.

“Damn it all,” it seems I have every little choice.

“What is it?”

Still occupied with my own thoughts, I forget to answer him. I begin to strip off my leather vest and then my green tunic.

Dark haired Hercules is startled by my sudden, unspoken actions. “What the – Hey! What in the void are you bloody doing?!”

I pull the tunic over my head, “I’m trying to get to my cardigan.” I frown when I answer him, “I need something to wrap your wounds in. I don’t have any rags and I don’t want that cut getting infected.”

He grumbles, “A heed of warning would have been nice.” There’s a dust of pink on his cheeks. I mutter an apology. To recover from his fluster, he asks, “What’s a cardigan?”

I lay both articles of clothing in my lap and tug on the soft material I’m wearing, “It’s this thing right here. It’s like a light…sweater? I don’t know how to word it, it its own thing.” I take off my cardigan, and immediately feel a hard shiver down my spine from the night’s cold air. I feel a brief alertness.  I glance down at soft, comfy, black material. I’ve had this thing for years. Each small hole has a story to tell, mostly involving my dogs. They loved playing tug of war with it.

I mentally scold myself; now is not the time get sentimental.

I sigh. Like ripping a Band-Aid off, I stick a finger in one of the tiny holes and rip a piece of the clothing. The result is heartbreaking, but it needed to be done.  I immediately put back my tunic and vest for warmth. I take the poultice from him and opened it. The young man has been silence throughout the duration.

“I’m Ellen by the way,” I tell him as I rub the herbal poultice on his wound.

“Carver,” He flinches slightly. “Damn it, you’re supposed to put the poultice on the cloth first! Then apply it to the wound.”

I freeze in the middle of applying the medicine, and I repeat his name in a whisper, “C-Carver?”

As in CARVER HAWKE?!

Oh sweet wheel of Fortuna, why you got to fuck me like this?

“What?” He snaps, almost annoyed I called his name. Carver stares down at me with a pout. His cheeks sink in, almost like he’s biting down the inside of it.

“I… I told you I wasn’t an exactly a healer!” I grumble while poorly hiding my flush cheeks.

Carver rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m starting to get that now.”

The moment I place my ripped up piece of cardigan on his cut, it beckon his attention. He’s silence throughout the entire time I baggage him up. It’s when I finish tying the last knot, he asks, “What is this? It’s…really soft.”

“It’s cotton,” I stand up from the ground. My legs are numb from sitting on them for too long.

“I didn’t think there was cotton this soft…” I can see an idea popping into his mind. He stares at me with a surprised expression and bluntly asking, “Are you a noble?”

The words that come to mind are: rich, living in luxury, and high social class. I don’t associate myself with any of these categories, not even in the slightest. I’m a recent college graduate, who’s working at high-end company as a barista, and for little pay dealing with people’s crap. I’m an adult that can barely support herself. I live paycheck by paycheck to work off my student loan debt and other expenses.

“No,” I quickly grab my bag and quickly change the subject, “Anyways that should do it.”

I take my leave before he can say another word to me.

The Fortuna’s wheel continues to spin against my favor as I’m requested to tend another soldier wound. His injury, however, wasn’t cared for ahead of time. The slash on his forearm is deep, messy, and spilling out a whole lot of blood. It reminds me of my menstrual cycle on day one. The smell, however, is completely different. I wasn’t prepared for the strong stench of copper mix with iron and salt. It practically burns my nose.

_It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real…_

I hold my breath and apply an elfroot potion on his skin. The healing liquid washes off most of the blood and forced to recover the man's wound. The injury scabbed within minutes. I tear some of my cardigan to cover the healed cut, like a patch. I reused the torn fabric he was using before to stop the bleeding to wrap his forearm. I know it's not exactly sanitary, but it should be ok since the wound is closed and there’s a clean patch of cloth covering it?

I retreat back to Wynne in an exhausted state. I drag my feet to where she was, but smile when I see her resting against a tree with her eyes closed. Quietly, I sit next to her and envy how slumber came to her. My body is under too much stress to sleep a wink. Instead, I feel a throbbing headache.

Not five minutes of peace before I hear someone calling my name, “Are you Ellen?”

 I groan as I stare at a pair of knee high leather boots. “I’m tired, actually.” A yawn escapes me, “I’ll go back to being ‘Ellen’ tomorrow.”

I hear a snicker coming from the person in front of me, “Yes, seems like we all are. I came by to say thank you.” Her voice is angelic to listen to, sweet and charming, but there’s a hint of smugness behind it all.

“Thanks for what, exactly?” I find the energy to lift my head to put a` face to the voice. The first thing I notice is her height, she over towers me like a skyscraper.  She has a pale complication, stunning electric blue eyes, and a rough pixie haircut. It’s messy and black just like Carver’s. Now that I’m focusing on her face, she has his lip shape…

Don’t fucking tell me.

“My name is Marian Hawke,” I can hear the teasing in her tone as she introduces herself, “and you tended a scowling man’s wound earlier. Well, I’m sure you got a few of those. Whoever complained the most that’d be him,” She chuckles at her own joke, “The man was my younger brother, and he’s doing a lot better because of you.” Her smile is captivating.

“Oh, um…” with the combination of my tired state and being star-stuck, it’s a little difficult to make a sentence let alone a coherent one, “He’s welcome. Wait, no. You’re welcome… It wasn’t a problem really. Just helping…”

The tall woman bends on her knee slightly, and pats me on the shoulder. It’s small gesture to show her appreciation. She returns to the other side of the campsite soon after. I groan as I slowly process our conversation and realize how brainless I acted in front of her. Fan-fucking-tastic first impression, Ellen, what awesome charisma you have!

“I need sleep.”

My place my torn cardigan underneath me for some type of cushioning and use my rucksack of potions as a pillow. I curl myself into a small ball by pulling my knees close to my stomach. I tuck my arms towards my chest and exhale an immense amount. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept under the stars like this. I camped like this when I hiked the Negev trails in Israel. However, it was during the summer when the nights were cool. I sleep near Wynne for warmth. She’s not kidding about how cold Ferelden can be at night. I’m thankful for the fire in the middle of the camp.

 

* * *

 

The sound of something snapping wakes me up. I urgently sit up and inhale a sharp breath. I calm my panicked state when I realize no immediate danger. Even though everything is blurry, I notice that I’m not in my bedroom. There’s too much brown and green, and my room doesn’t smell of smoke. I pat on the ground to search for my glasses.

I get frustrate as I try to locate them.

“I didn’t mean to startle you awake.”

It takes me a moment that someone is speaking to me, an old woman by the sound of it. I glance up and see a familiar white-haired, robe-wearing figure looming over me.

 My regulations from last night flash through my mind: breaking my glasses, Wynne saving me from Templars, my meeting with the Grey Wardens and King Cailan, and then running away from darkspawn. There were so many darkspawn.

Sitting up too quickly places me in a state of dizziness.  I close my eyes as I place my elbows on my thighs. My cradle my forehead in my hands. More memories flood into my mind as I remember bandaging up Carver, and then had Hawke seek me out to thank me for it. I tended another man’s wound. It’s was gory, the wound gushing out blood, like from a blood splatter horror film. The sight wasn’t so bad compare to the smell. My nose scrunches as I recall the odd copper scent.

Everything that has happened was real.

_It’s all real._

There’s a heavy weight on my chest and I cover my month as I feel a disgusting taste reaching my buds. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Ellen?”

Wynne’s face is a blur, but her voice is full of concern. I can only imagine her expression matches her speech. I drop my hand in my lap. Inhaling the cold air in my sleep has made my throat dry and sore.

The blurry figures are moving about the camp. The fire is already put out. I don’t bother with the time because I know it’s early. I see the mixture of orange and pink over taking the dark blue sky.

“Captain, we’ve spotted a group darkspawn heading in this direction. They’re two miles south!”

A man with a booming voice announces to the camp, “Head out! Now!” My guess is Captain Z scar.

“Let’s go, gather your things quickly.” Wynne sounds like a firm mother when speaking to me. She doesn’t hesitate to catch up with the front of the crowd.

Shit!

I get on my knees and grab my torn cardigan to tie around my waist. Make sure to double, I don’t want to lose one of the very few things I have from home. I place my fire bombs in the sack. It’s a tight, but it fits none the less. Like before, I put the quiver of bolts first before my backpack. I can feel the quiver digging into my back. I convince myself that it’s discomfort to pay. Lastly, I grab my crossbow with haste and follow Wynne in dawn’s light.

The dead leaves rustle as I trample over them, and I hear motivational voices of “keep moving forward” in the background. I tune all sounds out and keep my concentration on Wynne’s white hair up ahead. Keeping that white color blob in my sight is the only thing that matters. My focus numbs the feeling of pain in my legs and chest.

_I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I_ will _be fine._

Having a one track mind, however, I lose awareness in my surroundings. Fortuna’s wheel continues to spin in favor of screwing with me.

My ankle gets caught in the thick roots of a tree, and I curse as my body falls towards the cold dirt ground. I can feel new scrapes being created, and some reopening on my hands. Fantastic, like I needed my collection to grow. I waste no time in lifting myself up, but as I try to get on my both my knees I notice my left leg is not budging. My ankle is tangled in roots, and it has a very tight grip I might add.

I angrily groan, “OH COME ON! What is this? Revenge of some pissed off tree spirit?”

The roots spout out of the ground very slowly. I mentally curse every vulgar word in history and struggle to pull myself feel until I hear a familiar ghoulish gargle coming from it. I can make out a large deep socket eyes, a mouth line, and the smell of rotten fish emerging from it.

I scream at the top of my lungs and strive harder to break free from the darkspawn’s clutches. I repeatedly kicked it in the face (at least I’m pretty sure that’s what it is) with my free leg. However, it seems to do little damage. Another scream from escapes me when it’s other hand broke the surface and grabs hold of my other leg. I’ve watched so many horror movies to know the cliché, once you’re caught, you’re a goner.

“Oh, fuck me!” Tears begin to pour out of my eyes.

I can’t believe this is happening. This is real. I’m going to die. I’m seriously going to fucking die.

A bodily shape wearing mix colors of orange and tan charges towards me. They swing a large pointed object above their head, a claymore perhaps? I can’t make it out as it’s already being plunged into the darkspawn’s skull. I image its colorless eyes rolling back behind its lifeless head.

I shake off hand grip and immediately scuttle away from my attacker. I feel the rapid heartbeat against my chest and the salt from my tears burning a trail down my cheeks.

“Hey!” My savior speaks to me in a harsh tone. From the voice, definitely male, “You hurt?!”

I’ve hear this croakiness before.

“C-Carver?” How shaky my voice comes out, I’m surprise I manage to speak out his name.

He rushes towards me and bends down to my side. Getting closer, I see his familiar cheeks bones, messy black hair, and cold blue eyes.

 “Of course it’s me!” Carver’s says brashly. His furrowed eyebrows make his glare more intimidating. “Now answer me. You hurt anywhere?” I see his eyes roam my body for any wounds.

I shake my head. He huffs out an irritated sigh, “You could have gotten yourself free by putting one your bolts through its head. That’s the point of a crossbow.”

“I… panicked. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’ll say. You practically ran towards it! I even called out to you.” He shakes his head, “Didn’t you see the damn thing?”

I choke out, “N-No.” The tears continue to pour out.

He exhales a curse and suddenly his tone is softer when he speaks to me, “You had to be blind to not have seen it.”

What do I tell him? He’s not wrong. I can’t see anything outside of a two foot range.

Either he’s a mind reader or I was making an unpleasant face because his expression softens. “You can see, right?” Though it’s bluntly said, I can hear some concern in his question.

I take a deep breath in attempt to stop crying. I repeat this motion a couple more times before I speak, “I have really bad eyesight. I can see your face clearly, but everything else… not so much.”

Carver takes a moment to process my words. He looks around the surroundings before starting down at me with his icy gaze, “Wipe up your tears. I’ll be your guide.”

I wipe away the last of my crying with my sleeve. He stands up and offers me his hand. I gladly accept. In one swift motion, I’m back on my feet. I mumble a thank you. The young man straps his claymore to his back.

“ELLEN!”

Moments later, a breathless Wynne is at my side with worry in her eyes. She doesn’t hesitate to take my chin into her hand. She examines for any injuries I may have on my face and neck. “I didn’t know what had happened to you.  I thought— your eyes…” The redness and puffy condition of my eyes catches her focus.

I gulp down my spit, “I… I’m fine.”

She hums, and keeps the comments to herself as she checks the condition of my hands.

“I fell,” I begin to tell her. The tears are resurfacing, “I wasn’t l-looking where I… was going and… a darkspawn got t-to me.” She mumbles the Maker’s name under her breath as I continue choking out my tale, “Carver saved me. He saved me, so I’m okay. It’s okay. It’s okay now…” I feel like I’m convincing myself more than her. The ordeal still has me shaken up. My rambling get cut off by her smoothing voice agreeing with me.

She brushes the loose tears that escape away from my eyes, but soon her grandmotherly warmth vanished. I can see her eyes widening and her lips slightly parting open. Something dawn on her.

“Your sight…” Wynne puts the pieces together.

She closes her eyes briefly and exhales a large amount of breath as she shakes her head, “Of course you couldn’t see where you were going. Andraste’s flaming sword, I’m a fool. I nearly got you killed because of my forgetfulness.” Her attention is on the youngest Hawke.

“I assume you’re Carver?”

He nods slightly.

“I have you to thank then, young man. I truly appreciate you going to her aid when I couldn’t.”

Carver asks impatiently, “Then it’s true about her sight. Can’t you heal her?”

She shakes her head, “Healing, no. That will take time and energy, both in which I don’t have.” Wynne looks at me, “I still haven’t recovered from last night. I’m afraid I don’t even have enough to provide you a temporary provisionary spell. I’m sorry, Ellen.”

I frown. “No, it’s fine.” Not really, but it’s not like I’m much use anyways. Even with the crossbow in my hand and in the fire bombs in my pack, I froze completely when I encounter a darkspawn up close.

“It’s not fine!” Carver gets defensive, “I didn’t stab that damn creature just to let you be dangling bait for the darkspawn to take. No!” With a stern face, he looks at Wynne, “I can help. I’ll look after her, until your strength returns.”

I’m astonished by his words, “Carver, um…thank you.”

“Now, get up, we need to keep going. I’ll make sure we keep up.” He promises, when he takes a hold of my hand. The three of us run a short distance towards a group that seems to be heading in our direction.

“Is everyone alright?”

Wynne answer back, “We are.”

“Sister!” He calls out. Carver recognizes one of them.

A blurry silhouette in dark brown leather appears by his side. “Carver, I’m surprised at you!” I can hear the teasing in Hawke’s voice, “Holding hands? Now is hardly the time to elope. At least introduce her to mother first, before you whisk her away.”

“Enough of your jokes, sister!” Carver snarls. He’s not amused in the slightest. “I’m guiding her. Her vision isn’t the best, and the mage can’t do much about it right now.”

“And you took on the big-boy responsibility of watching over her!” Hawke coos, “My brother, the awesome hero!” She pokes at his temple with her index figure. Carver swats her hand away and he snarls at his older sister once again for the teasing.

 

* * *

 

My routine for the next five days fell into a pattern.

Each day started the same. I’d be up by dawn, usually in a startled state, with a massive headache and sore throat. Wynne would cast her provisionary spell on me, and we would travel until we had to break for lunch. Around that time, the spell would wear off. Wynne didn’t always have the energy to give me the same treatment twice in one day. Hawke and Carver stayed close to my side, especially Carver. He would hold my hand as we travel to prevent me from tripping.

“Not like you can defend yourself.” That was his excuse.

Around day two, Carver caught on quickly that I didn’t know how to fight. The scowling teenager –He’s nineteen! So, he’s technically still teenager— complained at first. Wondered how the void did I survive this long. He’s been protective of me since then.

In Hawke’s words, “He’s your own personal mabari!”

She also teased that he’s doing it to impress me, “Well, you’re a pretty one and he’s a man trying to prove his worth. Adorable isn’t it?”

We traveled on the main road for the most part. Occasionally, we run into other survivors, along with the darkspawn chasing after them. Captain Z, he’s name is actually Broderick Col, greets them and first thing he asks is ‘good that you’re alive, what division are you from?’

He and the other soldiers start to notice a pattern that no one is from Loghain’s command. Some of the newcomers step forth and confess that they witnessed Loghain’s men retreating right as the battle began. This information draws a large divide between the warriors. Some support Loghain’s decision. They reasoned that he made a tactical choice to save many lives. Others see Loghain’s act as treachery. He betrayed the King. Capitan Z makes sure to remind everyone that they are on the same side; choosing sides matters little to the darkspawn pursuing us.

It’s a no brainer to me that Loghain is a traitor. Besides the Archdemon, he’s one of the main villains in this game. I don’t voice it, unlike these rowdy soldiers. Wynne also keeps her comments to herself. I’m sure we share the same opinion, as I remember my many play-throughs. It was her that informed Irving of Loghain's treachery. It was a crime in her eyes.

Along the way, we camp on the farmlands close to the main roads. Captain Z warns each family who owns the land about the horde heading in this direction. He suggest to the families to pack what they can and to travel with us. He offers them protection until we reach to Lothering. Most of the time, they’re grateful for this information and give us permission to take their crops for the travel.

It’s not as if they can come back to the lands once the darkspawn take over. During the Blight, the soil will be poisoned and the plants in the area will wither away or turn to ash.

Walking long distance in black high-top chucks is murder on my feet. I suffer from blisters and rub burns on the back of my ankles. I had no choice but rip off more of my cardigan and wrap my ankles in it. It makes the journey a little more bearable.  Day three in our travel, I was lucky enough that farm land we camped at for the night has a river nearby. Wynne insist that we wash away any enemy blood that we have on our skins. She tells me to go first while she goes and looks for something to dry off, and I didn’t second guess it.

A bath sounds awesome, however reality strikes me like bag of bricks when I took a look at the river. I’ll be bathing in cold water, in cold winter, in public. Though, the area was secluded enough, the idea is still embarrassing.

Hawke comes to check on me, at Carver’s request,  only to see me staring at the water. She noticed my hesitation of touching it. She consoles me, though that was just to distract me from splashing cold water at my face. The droplets found their way down my shirt.

Future champion or not, I cursed her out like the sailor’s daughter I am, and she laughs.

I cussed out even more. “A little warning!”

“Oh it wasn’t that bad. You sound just like Carver!”

I grumble as I take off my tunic and leave on only my Rolling Stone tank. Little by little, I take some of the river water and wash the dirt off my arms, shoulders, and under my arm pits. I shiver violently from combination of the cold water and the weather, it can be easily be mistaken as a muscle spasm.

“Hey,” Hawkes grabs my attention, “I should thank you again.”

I raise my eyebrows and frown in confusion, “About Carver’s wounds? I really didn’t do much.”

She shakes her head, “No. For being a distraction for my brother.” Her eyes shift downward. The water is in reach for her to cup it and let it fall out of her hands, “You gave him a purpose to keep pushing through. All that’s happened at Ostagar…” There’s a pregnant pause, “I know everyone isn’t taking it well, him especially.”

Hawke’s voice is heavy with sorrow.

“How are you holding up?” I ask with my teeth chattering.

My question caught her off guard. Her lips are parted slightly and her eyes shift in my direction. “I…” Hawke composes herself, “I’ve lost some good friends. It pains me that they’re gone, but I still have my brother. Pain in the ass he might be, he’s family. His safety is all that matters to me right now.”

Keeping Carver safe is her distraction.

Wynne, thank God (Maker, Universe, Karma, or whatever,) brought back fresh set of clothing and a clean rag to dry off my exposed wet skin. It felt so nice to have another lay of clothing over my legs, even if it’s a long skirt. I hadn’t worn one of these since I was a child.

I follow Wynne and Hawke back to Carver where he waited sitting against a tree.

“Get some sleep, you’ll need it.” Carver grumbles when I sat down next to him.

On the fifth day, we finally reach the outskirts of Lothering by the late afternoon. I’m luckily that Wynne had enough mana to spare to cast her vision spell, or else I would have missed the beautiful scenery. It’s almost like I’m staring at a painting, the small town in the distance and the browning grass covered in light frost. It glistens under the sun.

Some of the soldiers begin to part ways from the main group. They’re locals in the area and they need to warn their families about the horde, Hawke and Carver included.

“Our farm is just a little east of here,” Carver points in the direction, “over that hill.”

I stop in my tracks, and so does he when he notices, “I guess this mean”-Suddenly the feeling of awkwardness consumes me- “we’re parting ways then?”

“I…” My words dawn on him as well. He struggles to communicate, “I suppose.”

We exchange unsure glances, and the silent conversation we share hasn’t lightened the awkwardness. Wynne and Hawke make their way towards us since he and I were walking a few feet ahead of them.

Carver musters the courage to ask, “Where is your home?”

“You’ve never mentioned it,” Hawke hums. She’s curious as well.

We spoke about many things on the road, but surprisingly enough that topic was never brought up. Well, we also never talked about one subject for too long. Between Hawke’s constant teasing and Carver’s bitter complaining, I’m astonished that I could get a decent conversation out of them.

Deep down, I was thankful. I didn’t want to explain myself.

Now that he’s asking…

Fuck.

“My home isn’t in Ferelden.” Damn it, I hate how I blurt out honesty as if it’s second nature.

I look towards the elder mage and pled for help with worried eyes. Wynne acknowledges my hesitation and comes to my aid, “She’s visiting.” Her hands rest on my shoulders in a protective manner. I notice that she straighten her back and her chin tilts upward, “She has business at Kinloch Hold.”

Having business with a tower that harbors magic wielders may not have been the best excuse, especially used against a young man whose twin sister is an apostate. This explanation doesn’t sit well with Carver.

He stare intently at me, “You’re a mage?” It’s hard to tell if he’s expressing anger or caution. It could be both.

“N-No,” Not wanting to get on his bad side. I shake my head, “I’m not.”

Wynne comes to my rescue once again, “She’s a scholar.” At this point, I feel she’s making things worse for me. “Her current research has led her here, to Ferelden. Originally, she’s from the Anders city of Laysh.”

The what?

“The Anderfels? Her?” Hawke joins in and she and Carver share an exchange of eyebrow rising reactions.

The Anderfels?! Isn’t that the harsh wasteland far northwest of Thedas? Dear fuck that’s like the Saharan part of the continent. It has extremely hot summers and crazy-ass dust storms. No one would believe that a dandy little person like me is actually from that fuck forsaken—

“Certainly explains your funny accent.” She shrugs, as if that convinced her.

I gasp at the minor insult, “Excuse you?”

I know I’m from Texas, but I’d hardly sound like southern bell!

“You really don’t hear yourself?”

I want to slap the smirk of hers, but quickly rethink my actions when I see the sense of humor draining from her face.

“Alright, then, here’s another question. Why you were at Ostagar if your business was at the Circle? Kinloch Hold’s location is _closer_ to the Anderfels.” She masks her suspicious attitude with a light tone. “Why travel farther south? Not unless you’re that terrible with directions.”

I begin to feel nervous.

“Ostagar was part of her subject of study,” Wynne answers in a stern tone, scolding almost, “and what she’s researching is a private matter.” I hear the minor warning.

“These are very vague details. There’s nothing worth researching on an old abandoned fortress that’s not already in your scholarly libraries I’m sure.” Hawke squint her eyelids slightly, “Unless your research involves darkspawn? Perhaps getting close and personal with a live one?”

Before Wynne can answer, the future champion of Kirkwall cuts her off, “And I rather _she_ answer the question. She does have a mind and a voice of her own.”

I’m not sure what’s she’s insinuating, but I don’t like where it’s heading. I feel whatever answer I give her won’t relinquish her of the idea that she convinced herself is true. What little trust we established travelling together these past four days is now nonexistent. I look towards Carver and notice his expression matches his sister’s. The result is clear; I’m the felon in this conversation. The tears are building up, but I take sharp breath to prevent myself from crying.

“So what if it did?” I can see Carver murmur a curse and shake his head. This upset me even more, “I-I don’t need you’re damn approval and as to why I am,” I hiss, “As Wynne, said: It’s a private matter.” Every word stung me, and also the Hawke siblings.

They are taken aback by my change in attitude. Their icy blue-eyed glares harden, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I mumble apology and as professionally as I can, say, “Thank you for taking care of me up until now. I appreciate all that you’ve done.”

Wynne, who has been briefly silence, quietly says to me, “Let’s go.” We turn our backs to them and walk forward towards Lothering. The tears immediately come sliding down my cheeks.

“It was brave of you to do that.”

I wipe them away in hope that she didn’t see any of them. “They were so nice.” It’s heartbreaking for me to leave on bad terms with Marian Hawke and Carver.

“You had the choice to tell them the truth, but it was wise not to tell them your true origin.”

“There’s nothing could I have said…” I cut myself off as I’m too upset to even finish the sentence. There really wasn’t one that didn’t make me sound like a damn loon. ‘Oh, you know, I came from the Fade. Yep! Spat me out like flavorless chewed gum!’

 “I doubt you’ll ever see them again.” Wynne’s tone is sympathetic, “If you can, dry your tears and forget them. We have more important tasks we need to focus on, such as getting back to Circle.” She begins to ponder, “Our first stop should be the Chantry. Ask for any supplies they can spare for our trip. It’ll be a nine day journey and I don’t have enough coin to provide us the food needed.”

After wiping my ugly tears with the back of my hand, I look towards my elderly companion, “Am… am I really going with you?”

She gives me an obvious stare, maybe surprised that I’d even ask such a question. When she realizes that I’m waiting for an answer, her expression softens.

“Of course you are. You’re still my responsibility under the Teyrn’s order… though that doesn’t hold much weight now.” Her eyes drift towards the side. A traitor’s order, she must be thinking. Wynne recovers from her train of thought and regains her eye contact with me, “Regardless, I feel I should take you to Irving, the First Enchanter at Kinloch Hold. He’s a very open-minded man, and a good friend of mine. I believe he may have an idea on your… situation.”

I notice her hesitation. She’s still uncomfortable with the idea of me popping out of Fade. I wondered what’s more unsettling, the ability to physically travel in the Fade, or that there’s something beyond it? But this would mean acknowledging my world is SOMEHOW connected to the Fade and THAT’S a disturbing thought!

“He’ll point us in the right path,” she says with confidence.

We pass two Templars at the entrance of the town, just outside a small farm. They guide us in the direction of the Chantry. It’s the tallest and largest structure I’ve seen so far. It’s a gray stone exterior with wooden supports and a high narrow rooftop. Sitting on top of the cathedral is a tall spire with a large loop attached to it. Four spikes surround the circle in a compass like fashion to represent the sun, the Chantry’s symbol. Honestly, it looks like a quidditch hoop with thorns.

As we go through the large double doors, three Templars greet us. Only one of them doesn’t have the standard helmet on. The man has dark skin and his chin length black hair is pulled back. His eyes glance in our direction after he dismisses the two Templars next to him.

“Greetings, I am Ser Bryant, commander of the Lothering Templars. Who might you be?” A Templar’s tone is usually harsh and aggressive, but his voice is smooth and gentle. It almost makes my knees melt, and handsome too. That’s a bonus.

“My name is Wynne, a senior enchanter at Kinloch Hold.” She formally presents herself with a kind smile and motions her hand towards me. “And my companion, Ellen. I was hoping to speak with the Revered Mother.”

“A senior enchanter?” He raises an eyebrow, “The Revered Mother, nor have I, sent a request for a mage from the Circle. Why are you here in Lothering? Where are your Templars escorts?”

She answers, “I was at Ostagar, by the King’s request. I was overlooking the injured and sickly. There were more darkspawn than we anticipated. We were force to flee. I wish to return to the Circle; however I lack the supplies for our journey. I was hoping to speak to the Revered Mother in aiding us.”

Bryant nods, “I see… There’s word of darkspawn stragglers, but no sign of the main horde.” The Templar’s express turns grim, “I can only assume it not far behind.”

“You have maybe a few days at most before the darkspawn come.”

He sighs and acknowledges this advice, “It’s already taking all of our effort to prepare the evacuation of Lothering. There are many who are ill and not suited for the travel. We are the only hope of protection this village has now, and I will not abandoned them.” There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You said you overlook the sickly. I can ask, before you travel back to the Circle, to take a look at people who have fallen to poor health? It will hasten our progression.”

“I can see what I can do.” Wynne nods as she gives him a small reassuring smile.

The Commander gives thanks on her promise before he turns to one of the lay sisters of the Chantry walking nearby.

“Ah, Sister Leliana!” He calls outs. Ser Bryant’s voice echoes throughout the chapel.

A red-head woman wearing familiar red and gold robes walks towards us. Her hair is short and a vivid color. She has small bangs and I can see a braid on the left side of her head.  The sister’s eyes are blue and her complexion is fair.

She greets us with a smile in her thick ~~French~~ Orlesian accent, “How may I be of help?”

I’m stun for a moment. Leliana is beautiful and has a voice of an angel, pleasant to listen to and sweet sounding. If I remember correctly, sings like one too. Part of her back story is before she became a lay sister, she traveled throughout Ferelden as a bard. In game, Leliana is a potential comrade for Hero of Ferelden against the Blight and eventually becomes an important figure in Thedas within roughly ten years.

“Sister Leliana, please escort these women to the Revered Mother. They wish to speak with her.”

The rosy cheek woman nods, “Of course,” she directs her attention to us. Her smile never goes away, “If you please follow me, mistresses.”

We trail not too far behind. I get a sense of the warm and welcoming atmosphere as I walk farther into the sanctuary. The candles that lights the building are dim, but it gives a cozy hearth feeling.  The three of us walk past an area of worship. Like in any church, there are two rows of long wooden benches facing a brick stage. A long red rug lying on the floor creates an open path between the rows. On each side of the stage is woman statue. They wore robes, a hood, and they’re overlooking a bowl they holdings in their hands. I count three different size podiums on stage, my guess the smallest one is use to lead the service as the other two are occupied with large open books.

Leilana leads us to the back of the Chantry through a set of rustic double doors. In the middle of the room is an elder woman wearing similar chantry robes sitting at a desk. The book cases behind her desk line up perfectly with the wall I can barely see the stone interior.

“Revered Mother, you have company,” Leliana announces.

The religious figure is mindful our presences. She stands from her sit and grabs the red robe laying rest on top of her chair and puts on. The golden embroideries at the hem of her sleeves and neckline shimmer in the candle lighting. They resemble an ocean wave like pattern. After securing the heavy looking garment to her body, she walks around her desk to greet us properly.

“Hello Maker’s children, how may I be of service to you today?”

The smile is genuine, but tired. The dark bag under her eyes tells me she hasn’t had a decent sleep in days.

“Forgive me for disturbing you Revered Mother,” Wynne begins, “My name Wynne and I’m a senior enchanter from Kinloch Hold. This is my associate Ellen.” I show a small, awkward, smile when we briefly make eye contact.

The mother frowns slightly. “Oh? I never sent a request of aid to the Circle.”

Wynne explains her situation to the Revered Mother, and she comes to term with our unfortunate circumstance.

“We have less time than I thought to evacuate.”

“I understand how hectic the situation is. We will make do with whatever supplies you can provide us.”

The Mother frowns and turns her gaze away from us briefly to ponder our proposal. Leilana whisper the elderly woman’s name in worry.

She takes a deep breath, “It is by the Maker’s will he sent you. We have villagers who are sickly and they need to be tended to.” Her shoulders are becoming relaxed, “If you please assist in helping them, I will make arrangements and gather what you’ll need for your journey.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother.” Wynne bows her head slightly and I mumble my gratitude and notion my head same way.

“How soon will you like to depart?”

“Early next morning,” She answers without skipping a beat. I look towards Wynne with concern eyes. We just finish traveling a five day journey and she want to leave for another long trip so soon?

“Very well,” The Chantry Mother nods, “Then I will gather the supplies this evening. It’s not much, but I’d like to extend a warm bath and a hot meal for the evening for you and your associate.”

Wynne smiles, “That’s kind of you. We happily accept.” And once again I awkwardly say my thanks.

“Leilana, please show our traveling guests to the bathing quarters?”

The bard in sister’s clothing is once again smiling, “Of course.”

Wynne is quick to decline, “Just this young lady here. I’ll like to attend to the sickly first. My mind will feel at ease knowing they’re taken care of.”

“Wait, you’re pushing yourself--” I argue, but she cuts me off by reassuring me that she’ll be right behind me. It won’t take her long.

“It is best to rest first, healer, but as you wish. I’ll escort you to our sickly”

Wynne and I go our separate. I watch as she and the Revered Mother leave. I can’t help but worry about the elderly mage. She’s been working herself since the day I’ve met her with barely any rest.

Leliana appears by my side. “Let’s get you settled into a nice bath, yes?” I follow her deeper into the back of the Chantry with a frown on my face. She breaks the silence between us talking about clothing, “We can find you something to wear while we wash your clothes. I think I might have something that fits you.” She giggles at the thought.

Wash my clothes?

Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment hits me as I’m not use to being treated like this without giving some time of payment in return, ”T-Thank you, but you don’t have to wash my clothes. I can do that, you’re already doing enough.” I have very little experience washing my clothes by hand, but feel better if I was the one doing it.

“You act like you have never received help in this manner,” There’s a hint of coyness in her tone, “Odd for someone who came from nobility.”

I frown, “I’m not nobility?” Carver assumed the same thing. Why is that?

“You’re not? Forgive me.” The coyness doesn’t go away, “I notice how smooth your skin looks, especially your hands. It looks as if you haven’t worked a day in your life, and your body-shape is filled out. Shame, the tunic you’re wearing doesn’t define your curves enough.” She rambles one how she may have a tunic that works better.

Suddenly, I feel self-conscious about my pudginess and thick thighs. I know I’m overweight for my petite size. I’ve accepted it, but when around strangers I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. I cross my arms and avoid my gaze with the red-headed bard. I follow her in silence to the bath chambers.

I count four copper, moderate sized tubs in the chambers. Two are aligned with one wall and the other two on the opposite wall. In the middle of the room is a red rug as long as room itself. I wait for Leilana to draw my bath. I offer to help, but she insists that I relax. It doesn’t do me much good. I feel as if I’m being babied, and it feels more uncomfortable from a stranger. Well, she’s not a _complete_ stranger to me. I know her personality and background well enough, but meeting her in person is different. It’s like meeting a movie star.

“Oh!” She gasps softly, “How careless of me that I forgot a towel. I will back right back.” Leliana’s chantry robes hide her feet. It’s as if she float towards the door when she walks out so gracefully and quickly.

I set down my backpack and weapon next to the tub. I begin to strip off my clothes and dip slowly in the warm water. My muscles tingle and I begin to feel them unwind.

“Here you are.” I’m startle by the sudden announcement. The affirmed sister comes back with a towel folded in her arms and other things. I bring my knees to my chest to hide my breasts. Nakedness is not something I’m comfortable displaying in public, even if we’re both women.

Leliana smiles as she bends her knees to set down the towel, a bar of soap, a comb, and a fresh set of folded clothes on the ground. “These are the only clothing I can find on short notice.”

I match her smile with a shy one. “Thank you, Leilana.” I pause as I think to myself that I’m being too formal. I hesitate to correct myself, “I’m mean, Sister Leilana.”

“Leilana, please” She assures me. I notice she slips her hand in the opposite sleeve. “And, I have one more thing to make your bath enjoyable.” She pulls out a small vile with yellow liquid and purple petals, “Lavender oil for the hair. It’ll make it silky and give it a nice sheen.”

“T-Thank you,” I raise my hand of the water to take the generous gift, “You really didn’t have to.”

“Perish the thought, I wanted to.” She waves my worries away, “The scent of the oil will help you unwind. You look like you’re in need of some relaxation from your days on the road.” She folds my dirty clothes.

I protest for her to take my clothes, “No, wait, please. You’ve done enough. You don’t need to wash my clothes.”

“Skittish aren’t you?” Leilana observes. Her targeting gaze makes me want to hide, but offers me comforting words, “You’re safe here. There’s no need for you to keep your guard up.” Shortly after, she’s back to her chipper self, “I’ll be back to check on you in half an hour for dinner.”

Officially left alone in the bath chamber, I let my hair down from my high bun. It’s not long, not in my opinion. It’s past my shoulders by a few inches.

I grab the comb to detangle my hair and get all the dirt out. I feel a million times better after wetting my hair and putting the lavender oil on my scalp. She was right the scent of the oil did decompress my body. I can feel my muscles uncoil from the stress. I leave the oil in my hair as I wash my body with the soap.

“Shit!” I curse. Wynne’s temporary vision spell has worn off. My sight is blurry again.

As relaxed as I felt, that didn’t stop me for letting out a frustrated groan.

By the time I finish my bath, I’m already to lie down and sleep for the next hundred years. I put on a sleeveless looking crop top. I assume it’s a breast band, an article of clothing to hold your bosom in place. It reminds me of a tightly constricted bra. I dress in a long sleeve tan tunic and worn out linen pants. I feel weird wearing pants without having any underwear on.

I look down at the bath and wondered how I empty the tub since there’s no plumbing. Do I just leave it? It would be rude of me to do so?

As I deliberate what to do with the bath water, I braided hair. Wet hair is essential for me, a delicate process, because if not treated right away I’ll deal with untamed frizzy hair. Though, as of the moment, that’s the least of my problems.

“Oh, excellent, you’re dressed!” I jump from the chime voice echoing in the room. I look over my shoulder to see a red-headed blur. “Dinner is being served. I’ll show you where we dine. Come, come!” Her playful tone eases me… or that might be the lingering smell of the lavender oil. I want to ask about the bath, but her eagerness to drag me out of the chamber answers my question. I have to rush in gathering my things.

She’s in a better mood since I last saw her.

“I have a question,” she states as she leads me down a hallway, “Where on Thedas did you get your clothes, especially underlining wears? The quality is beautifully made and the texture is nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s soft to the touch.”

Oh. Right, she grew up in Orlais, the continent’s most fashionable country. Style is life or death to the Orlesian. Know your shit or suffer a life-time of ridicule (something along those lines).

“It’s alright, I guess.” I mumble. I concentrate on making coherent sentences. Leliana seem to notice how tired I am as she stops pursing with questions. We walk the remaining way in silence.  When I get my hot meal, a broth stew of some kind, I just stared at it.

I didn’t have the energy to eat. Leliana reminds me that it’s not good to sleep on an empty stomach. The taste of the stew is bland, but in my tired state I didn’t care. Wynne joins us later in the dining hall. She looks as exhausted as I am, but wears a content smile. She tells me that all the ill patients have been treated and they’re now recovering. More good news, the Revered Mother extends an invitation that we can stay for the night. There are no beds left, she explains, but we can sleep on the floors or the wooden benches.

“How is your sight?” Wynne asks.

I shake my head, “Back to the way it was.”

She nods in understanding and ask for Leliana to guide me to the chapel area of the Chantry. I barely remember getting up from my sit after finishing my meal and following the red-head bard. I sit on a wooden bench closest to the brick stage.

I must be out of it truly if Leliana has to pat me on the shoulder to get my attention, “I’ll get you a blanket.” I nod in response and watch her and Wynne’s figures get blurrier as they walk away. I set my crossbow underneath the bench and like before used my pack as a head rest.

In mere minutes, my eye shuts, tunes all noise out, and I drift into an abyss of slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!
> 
> Well, not as soon as I thought, haha, sorry about that.
> 
> Things are starting to roll now, I'm already have the outline for chapter 5 set up. Now there's the matter of writing it...
> 
> I'm excited to announce that my roommate, Flakeblood, has created a (sort of, but not really) companion fic to this is called: Two Queens in Kirkwall. It's available only on FF.net (for now.) 
> 
> You don’t have to read it in order to understand mine, or read mine to understand hers. Both are stand alone :D Though, I do recommend taking a peek at it!
> 
> I would like to thank my roommate for all her hard work. You are the best!

As tired as I was, my mind didn’t get much rest. I was relieving the memories at Ostagar.

All the blood...all the screaming...surrounded by darkspawn...

Wynne wakes me up with a gentle nudge to the shoulder. I throw off the blanket that’s on top of me to the side. At first, I’m confused as to why there’s a blanket on me, then I remind what Leliana said. She said that she’d bring on back before I passed out.

That’s right…I’m in the Chantry. I crashed out on one of the worship benches.

The sanctuary is peacefully quiet. Those who are stressed and anxious about the evacuation are resting. No is walking about but us. The candles are still lit making the worship area dim.   

There are mix feelings of relief and despair swirling inside me. Ostagar was just a nightmare. It’s all behind me now, but at the same time, I’m stuck in a world that’s supposed to be fiction. Magic is real. Darkspawn are real. This is not something that a person can get use to overnight. I haven’t even come to terms with how I got here in the first place.

Falling through an unexplained internal dimension portal sound like a real cliché way to start a self-insert fan fiction…

I don’t have a much of a lead expect follow Wynne to the Circle. Like she said yesterday, First Enchanter Irving might have some insight about my situation, and possibly a solution of getting me home?

On the ground next to me is my cross bow and my clothes, clean and folded, with a small paper on top. There’s something written, but I’m not sure what it says. I’m unfamiliar with the letters used.

“No dwelling, we need to leave.” Wynne reminds me. I nod and pack up my clean clothes. She gives me some camping equipment for me to carry, such as a bedroll, a rolled up tent, and ropes. I have a feeling the ropes are meant to help pitch the tent, but I have another use for it. I use it to tie up the bedroll and the tent together and attach it to my backpack. Wynne is still organizing her things, so it leaves me some time to fold the blanket Leliana gave me. She was nice. This is the least I can do.

Wynne and I leave the countryside town at the crack of dawn, maybe a little bit before. It’s still dark out. The roosters haven’t had a chance to screech their cock-a-doodle-do to wake the farmers up. My brain is trying to function on a few hours of sleep.

“Sleep well?” Wynne asks after I utter a yawn for the hundredth time.

I shrug, “Not exactly.”

The small talk ends there and we travel in silence until lunch. Wynne informs me our agenda for the rest of the day. We’ll walk for a few more hours and then stop for the day. She says it’s best to set up camp while there’s still daylight.

“Wynne, can I asking you something?”

She teases, “You already did, but you’re more than welcome to ask another.”

I smile briefly before pulling out the small piece of paper from my bag. “Can you, um…read this to me?” I hand her the note. She tilts her head at my request, but takes it and unfolds it.

“Here are your clothes, and you may keep the ones you’re wearing. I pray to the Maker watch over you on your journey. Please take care.” Wynne read out loud. I see a smile tugging on her lips. “Rather sweet, I think. This must have been from that young lady who was looking after you.”

She gives me back the note and I say my thanks as I tuck it back where it belongs.

“Was there a reason you couldn’t read it yourself?”

I frown when I confess, “I don’t recognize the letters. For whatever reason, I thought because we speak the same language, the alphabet would be the same. ” I let out a large sigh, “Well, I’m damn wrong on that.”

“Alphabet? Are you referring to the rune system?” She finishes the last bits of her lunch.

“Runes? Is that what those letters are?” I piece together slowly that this is what used in Thedas. A groan escapes as I remember the weird scribbles, “Shit. This is a problem. I can’t make out anything. Here, um—” I frantically look around for a twig. I spot one next to Wynne, grab it, and stand up to walk towards a patch of dirt. I draw out my name in capitals. “—this is what I’m use to. This is how you would spell my name.”

Wynne dust the dirt off her robes as she stands up. She quietly observes my hand writing. I can her forehead wrinkling in thought, “Interesting, and…your rune system originated from where?” I can hear the concern in her tone and how uncomfortable it is. As if she’s bearing witness to someone being delirious.

“Um…” I take a moment to think the process that rune mean letter. “I can’t really say for sure. I want to say Greek, but it could be Roman? I have a feeling Latin had something to do with it.” Wynne stares at while I ramble. She doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying. My eyebrow crease forward when I mentally curse at myself. “Sorry, that didn’t make any sense. Ignore me.” I continue to ramble, “I’m probably wrong anyways. History wasn’t my best subject.”

If I’m not intrigued by the subject, the information doesn’t stick with me. A struggle I faced in college when I had to take any core class. I don’t have a problem with studying, but I have a feeling my method is lazy and unorthodox.  I take down notes that I would need, and memorize simple key words. If I recognize any of the keywords as an answer to a question on an exam, that would be my answer. Rarely, did I have to write an essay during an exam. It worked, I passed my classes, and all information is wiped from my mind.

“A discussion meant for the road.” Wynne hums as she walks towards our packs, “Gather your belongings. I’d like to walk far as we can while the sun is still high in the sky.”

I scruff away the letters in the dirt with my foot, and follow her. As she said, we continued our conversation on the road. I don’t go much detail about the history of the alphabet. Instead, I explain we have twenty six letters, five vowels and twenty one consonants. She goes into detail that each country in Thedas has a native language, but everyone knows the common tongue, (what we’re speaking now). The letter system people use is based off dwarven runes. Wynne gives me a brief history lesson that it was invented by the dwarves to trade with each other, and later on it was introduced to other races. The native language the dwarves used was lost centuries ago along with their original runes.  

The sun is no longer at its highest peak, and Wynne suggests that we make camp. I untie the rope holding the tent from backpack. After I unroll the large circular lien blanket flat, I ask what to do next. I’ve been camping before, never pitched a tent. She’s patient in explaining to me what the pegs were for and where they went. She and I stake the lien blanket edges with pegs to keep it grounded.

When gathering small branches for our fire, Wynne found a tall tree branch that she said we can pole to pitch the lien tent with. By the time we finish pitching our tent, start the fire, and unroll our sleeping bags, the sun has already gone down. My feet are red and cover in blisters from walking in my converses. The torn pieces I use to cover my ankles are getting worn out. Small holes are appearing in the cloth. The back of my ankles are irritated by my converse as I see the redness present.

I try to sleep off the pain, but my nightmares of Ostagar have once again kept me awake. My back and neck are sore by morning with all the tossing and turning I was doing to put my mind at ease. I wait for Wynne to wake up so that we can take down the tent and pack up our things.

“You didn’t sleep well, I take it?” Wynne asks as we pitch down the tent. I yawn for what seem like the twentieth time this morning.

I say bitterly, “Not so much, no.” I take a deep breath before apologizing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean snap. I’m just…stressed out. I haven’t stop thinking about Ostagar since we left.”

“It still lingers in my mind as well.” Wynne frowns, “What happened at Ostagar is tragic, but unfortunately there was nothing we could have done. No person could have predicted Loghain’s retreat,” I thought that’s the end of the sentence. I almost missed her adding on, “…expect you.”

I put a halt to my packing. I can practically hear the speculation in her tone. I close my eyes and mentally curse every vulgar word I know. I’ve completely forgotten my outburst on the bridge.

“It has been put off long enough.” Almost in a motherly scolding manner she tells me, “Ellen, we need to discuss this matter.”

I frown as I know exactly where this conversation will lead. I feel like I’m screwed no matter what answer I give her. If I lie or bull shit anything, she’ll call me out on it. If I tell her the truth, it will make me sound like a completely nutcase. Wynne was ready to explode my gut with her magic fist when I said I was from somewhere beyond the Fade.

Now that I think about it, it really does sound absurd. My world shouldn’t have any physical, let along MAGICAL, connection to the Fade! Not unless heaven is actually the haze green acid like realm. If that’s the case, my Rabbis have some damn explaining to do.

“Ellen.” Wynne calls out my name to get my attention.

If I remain silence, I’ll earn myself mistrusted glares and possibly the cold shoulder throughout the trip. I want her to believe me, but I don’t know how to do that!

“I don’t know how without lying to you, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Then don’t.” She immediately states. She makes it sound so simple.

A wave of frustration hits me like a tsunami, “It will sound fucking crazy! You won’t believe me. None of it and the problem is I can’t explain it any other way!” I’m steaming by this point. I shove my bag away from me and stand on my feet to pace. “You probably won’t like what I say either! The last time I tried to be honest with you, you were about to blast me out of existence when I said I was from beyond the Fade!”

Wynne signs at my tantrum, “An exaggeration of what happened, but I do understand that you have your concerns.”

“No, you don’t understand!” I snap. I’m getting angrier by the minute.

The stress of the situation is overwhelming me to the point that I want to cry. I fear the results will end up the same, terrible and unsatisfied. I am telling the truth, but I’m upset by the fact that Wynne will not believe me. I know she won’t. Despite that she’s taking me to the Circle to help me, but what if she changes her mind after I tell something she doesn’t like? I can’t help but imagine terrible stereos. Will she treat me like a prisoner? Tie me up for the remaining days. Will she kill me? Summon a bolt of lightning to strike me down. Tear apart the ground from under me, and I’d fall to my doom like the darkspawn on the bridge.

The worse one I can think of is abandonment. She’ll leave. I’ll be forced to wonder in a world I barely understand. I don’t stand a chance surviving here. That’s the same as being left for dead.

I grip a chunk of my hair, and the other to hide my face as the tears stream down my cheeks.

It all seems hopeless, no matter what I do.

“You’re…allowing this stress consume you.” I hear a pity tone from Wynne as she frowns. “Do not be deceived by what your imagining my response will be.”

“Crazy sounding as your answers may be, you’re certain it’s the truth.” Wynne makes me an offer, “I’ll listen to what you have to say. I’ll even keep my thoughts to myself so as long as you answer every question I have. Does that sound fair?”

I nod and dry up my tears with the back of my hand.

She smiles and pats me on the back for comfort, “Good. Let’s finish packing.”

I match her smile with my own, though it’s forced. We finish packing up the camp and eat our breakfast. Wynne doesn’t start engaging me with the topic about Loghain’s betrayal until I was ready. I admit I’ve seen his betrayal before. She asks how. This…is tricking to answer honestly. I don’t like the idea that telling that her world is fictional. Who knows what it will do to a person if their fourth wall was broken. I tell her the next best thing that’s closest to the truth.

“Déjà vu?” She repeats my word. “You predicted Loghain’s outcome base off of this?”

I smile nervously, “Yeah, it’s….a feeling you get from being in situation you never been in before, but it somehow familiar to you? You remember an experience even though it’s your first time experiencing it. I know it super weird.” I ignore Wynne’s facial reaction and rabble on, “But it’s actually a thing that can be preform by the human brain. There have been scientific studies about it. Though, I can’t tell you why our brains do it. I think slept through that part of the lecture in my physiology class. I kind of wish I didn’t, then maybe I could of learn why my sense of déjà vu is so unorthodox.”

“Unorthodox? There’s a proper way to experience this sensation?” I can hear the sass in her tone. I catch a glimpse of Wynne rolling her eyes.

“Well, I think it’s a bit strange,” I frown and confess, “I sort of…dream about the event beforehand, but I don’t remember dreaming about it until it actually happens. Is this making sense?”

“That Loghain’s betrayal was foretold by a feeling for the future in a form of a dream.” Thick with sarcasm, she says, “Yes, it makes perfect sense.”

I had to deal with her high level of sass for the next nine days, but she kept her promise to only listen. She didn’t second guess my answers, which I was grateful for. It made me feel at ease. Not enough to know my life story, but she knew I had studied at a university, what I did for a living, and my family. Wynne was surprised at my occupation.

“I never took you for a merchant, especially one that sells coffee.”

I shrugged, “It’s not the oddest job I’ve had.”

After my segment of crazy talk, Wynne would enlighten me on a Thedas. She started with Ferelden’s culture. I was enjoying her lectures as we travelled on the road. It was something to look forward to, especially after during a sleepless night. Another distracting is my breast band, fuck it hurts like a bitch wearing it all day. When I take it off for the evening, I can see and feel the dent it makes on my skin. I debate every morning if I should go bra-less for the rest of the journey.

My nightmares were getting worse, more distributing. I was reliving the moment on the bridge. I saw the terrified expressions on the soldiers’ faces when being slaughtered by the darkspawn. The blood gushing out from their mouths and stomachs was getting too much for me. I would wake up to a bad taste in my mouth.

By the ninth day, we reach Lake Calenhad. Wynne and I stand on a hill to take in the view. At the bottom of the hill is a lodge with smoke coming out of its chimney, and a small rickety dock. The afternoon sun makes the water glitter, along with the white frost that covers the land. A tall stone tower stands in the middle of the lake with remains of a broken bridge that once connected the tower to the land.

I rarely see snow where I live, but it’s also known that Texas doesn’t do well with icy cold weathers. The moment a snowflake hits the ground, schools are cancelled, everyone calls in sick for work, and the highway roads get blocked off. No one dares go outside. I’ve had my fair share of horror stories. When it started to snow last night, I panicked. I was worried for our health and our safety travelling under harsh conditions. Wynne reassured me that we’ll be at the Circle before the snowy weather settles in.

“How is your vision?” Wynne asks as we walk towards the docks.

I smile, “I’m holding up alright.”

An old ferry man takes us across the lake to Kinloch Hold. This tower is something from a medieval fairy tale. It’s tall, probably eight stories high, and exterior stone is covered in moss and dirt. I’m not surprised how high the ceiling is when I walk into the grand entrance of the Circle. There are many Templars station in the area for guard duty. One of them stands out from the rest, an older gentleman with gray hair. My guess he’s the senior Templar in charge.

He notices our presence as we approach, “Wynne!” He walks towards us with haste, and looks relieved to see Wynne. I take the opportunity to get a closer look at the elder man, and gasp as I recognize him.

Greagoir, the Knight Commander of the Circle. His beard is clean and even, as if he just got it trimmed. He has a few white patches growing on his chin and in the middle of parted hair. His large brown eyes reminded me of marbles, glossy and his shade of color depended on the lighting in the room. A few bangs are misplace from his neatly part hair.

His high rank in the Templars is shown on his breast plate. He has the standard Templar symbol, the large sword symbol surrounded by thin wings.  Above it a long diamond with smaller diamonds branching out underneath like leaves. It reminds me of Meredith’s golden head piece. She’s the Knight-Commander from _Dragon Age 2_. His pauldrons, the armor shoulder pieces, also distinguish his ranking. They’re bigger and have the Chantry’s sun engraved in them.

“Greagoir, it’s good to see you.” Weariness is present in Wynne’s voice, but she greets him with a small smile.

“By the Maker, you’re alive. We thought Uldred was the only one.” The man examines Wynne for any injuries, or maybe signs that she’s possessed by a demon. He’s so focus, he overlook my presence.

“Uldred?” Wynne’s eyebrows rise, and so do her vocals, “He’s…alive?” She ponders briefly, and then slowly I see her facial expression change as if she thought of something unpleasant. “Of course he is. He was in Loghain’s unit.”

The Knight-Commander nods, “He arrived two days ago with hardly a scratch.” It seems he and Wynne share a dislike for Uldred. Commander’s tone is irritable when he mentions the mage. “He brought us news of Ostagar. He said that everyone was slaughter on the field, including our senior mages. The Grey Wardens are to blame for their massacre. They betrayed the crown and purposely lead our king to his death.”

Wynne burst out with anger, “Nonsense! It’s Loghain who’s the traitor!”

She receives stares from Templars in the surrounding area, including myself. However, my reasoning might be different. I’ve never seen her upset like this before. She has always been calm and rational in my company. I’m too busy worrying about my problems that I didn’t notice how Ostagar affect her. Wynne’s been bottling up her grief. She hasn’t had the time to mourn for the lives of her colleagues. On top of that, she’s has to deal with me the antsy stranger from the Fade.

The elder mage regains her calm demeanor after taking a deep breath, “This a discussion meant for privacy.”

“Perhaps that’s best,” Greagoir agrees, “I’ll take you to Irving at once.”

“Yes and there’s also another delicate matter at hand,” Wynne places a hand on my shoulder. “Greagior, this is Ellen.”

He finally notices me. I can see his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

Wynne continues her introductions. “Ellen, this is the Knight-Commander of this Circle.”

The senior Templar blinks out of his trance as he suddenly remembers his manners, “A pleasure?” Though, he sounds unsure as to why Wynne is bringing me to his attention. He makes a guess, “Is she a newly surface mage?”

“No, she isn’t, but I promised her an audience with Irving.”

The Knight-Commander squints his eyes at her, “You know the rules, Wynne. A citizen cannot enter the Tower, unless—”

“Don’t lecture me. I know the rules very well, Knight-Commander.” She briefly scolds, “But this is an expectation you must allow. She’s caught in a… _boggling_ situation, and I believe Irving may be able to help her.”

I notice that she used a careful tone with the word ‘boggle,’ as if she’s speaking code. Greagior frowns when he shifts his eyes towards me. He’s examines me the same way he did with Wynne when he greeted her. He’s not happy, in fact he’s warry.

His guard is up, “The crossbow stays here. Our quartermaster can watch over your weapon during your duration.”

I frown. I’ve been carrying it for days. It’ll feel weird not holding it, but I have little choice. The Knight-Commander introduces me to the man in charge of providing equipment and supplies for Templars. I show some hesitation in giving up my weapon and my quiver of bolts.

“It’s in good hands.” The quartermaster tries to comfort my concerns.

I gain the senior Templar’s approval. He nods and impatiently adds, “Follow me, and keep up.”

We follow him up three flights of stairs and down a long curve hallway. I do my best to keep my head down as we walk pass by any resident of the tower, their stares make me uncomfortable. It’s as if they can tell I don’t belong here. I don’t stand out that much, do I?

Gregaoir opens a pair of polish wooden doors without knocking, and we enter a grand study room. It’s spacious, about the size of six master bedrooms put together. Bookcases cover all four walls, full of scrolls, leather binding books, relics, and other trinkets. In the middle of the room is a sitting area. Four wooden chairs surrounding an oval dinner table. Not far from the table is a large desk with neatly stack books and scrolls.

There an older gentleman with gray hair is sitting at the desk. He lifts his head from his paperwork to see who enter the room.

“Wynne?” Under his bird nest beard he smiles as we approach him, “It’s is good to see you alive, my friend.” He stands on his feet and makes his ways around the desk. The gentleman greets the spirit mage properly with a handshake.

Wynne acknowledges his welcome, “As am I, Irving. I’m happy to be back.”

“And who is this young woman?” The man turn to me curiously, “A new apprentice to join us?”

She hums, “Not quite.” Wynne’s hand rests on my shoulder, “May we sit? We’ve had a long journey.”

Irving bobs his head, “I imagine so. Please, rest.” He guides us to the oval table. After Wynne and I take off our backpack, the four of us sit. I sit beside Wynne and across from Irving. The Knight-Commander fidgets in his seat.

“Ellen, this is Irving, the First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold,” Wynne introduces us. I mumble a small greeting before she continues, “Irving, this is Ellen. She came to Ostagar under unusual circumstance. I was order to watch over her.”

“This that so? Why is that?” Irving is now looking at me, expecting me to answer.

I’m too nervous to answer. The pressure of telling the truth overwhelms me, so Wynne answers instead. She gathers her thoughts before speaking, “She came from the Fade, Irving.”

Immediately Greagior stands from his seat, and slams his hands on the table. It rattles. “I thought she was under the influence of the Fade! You use the word ‘boggle!’ But—this?!” His yelling becomes hysterical, “A darkspawn must have cracked that skull of yours at Ostagar to think that bringing a demon here is wise. Better yet—” The Templar begins to unsheathe his sword. “You’re not thinking at all, you’re under its control.” He walks around the table.

My heart practically skips a beat. I jump out of my seat to get ready to run.

“You will not dare harm her, Greagior!” Wynne stands from her chair as well and blocks his path. Her immediate action puts him to a halt. There’s a sneer in her tone when she speaks, “She is in fact human.” She whips her head towards to the First Enchanter, “I’ve verified this for myself. I had the same accusations as the Knight-Commander when I’ve witness her ascension into this world.”

“Oh, did you? And what made you dismiss your allegations?” Greagior taunts.

It seems Wynne was prepared for this. She’s answers in a cool manner, “She doesn’t possess any magic. None runs through her veins.”

Greagior’s jaw drops slightly and he turns to face his male colleague. Irving straightens his back as this news intrigues him. He shifts his gaze towards me as if he studying me.

“Young lady, may you lend me your hand?” The First Enchanter gently asks.

My hand is shaky, but I reach out to him. Irving clasps both hands on my mine, and suddenly a warm tingling sensation on my palm and at my fingertips. The feeling is nice, and smoothing, like I’m warming my hands by a cozy fire on a cold winter night.

Irving smiles when sensation stops and releases my hand. He turns to the Knight-Commander to confirm, “Wynne is telling the truth, Greagior. There is no magic in this one.”

The state of shock lingers on the senior Templar, “How can this be possible?”

“Now that we establish that no one has fallen victim to a demon’s temptation” Irving gesture his colleagues to their chairs, “We can return to our seats?”

Greagior clears his throat as slides his sword back into his sheath, and returns to his seat. His behavior bothers me. Maybe I’m hoping to hear some apologize from him? At the very least show some guilt, anything to acknowledge his mistake. However, he doesn’t as if he’s too proud to admit it or worse. He think he did nothing wrong. Wynne takes her seat as do I. I don’t dare look at the Commander in the eyes.

“You’re truly from the Fade, young lady?”

I shake my head, “I, um, don’t live there if that’s what you’re asking. I just fell through it? At least that’s what I think. I…don’t know.” I frown, “I know where I’m from, First Enchanter, and it’s not here in Thedas…in Dragon Age. I want to get back, but I don’t even know how I got here in the first place, or why. I’m just as clueless as everyone here.” I feel myself coming undone. The tears are building up, “I can’t remember anything at all, and it’s frustrating. I just want to go home…”

“I’m sure it is. Then, could you tell me—”

A creak comes from the double doors. I think nothing of it, but the three elders in the room are on their guard.

“Show yourself!” The Knight-Commander barks his order. He’s a restless man as he stands from his seat once again.

Opening the door wider enters a young handsome man, roughly my age, with short blonde curly hair. His face is clean shaved and he wears the uniform of a Templar. He seems nervous when he shuts the door behind him. He avoids eye contact with us. Somehow, he looks oddly familiar to me…

Greagior is stun to see this recruit, “Cullen?”

Well, shit balls.

I’m just meeting everyone fucking important aren’t I?!

Cullen Stanton Rutherford, one of golden boys of the Temple Order. He follows the rules, wants to protect everyone, and genuinely cares about people’s safety. He’s a loyal and honest man, especially to his comrades. He moves up in the ranks and eventually becomes the Knight Captain of Kirkwall.  However, he’s nothing like the man I see now. The events of the Broken Circle drastically changed his view on magic. The Cullen I remember was harsher and has no sympathy towards mages. But he gets...better? I haven't played _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ , but I know of his involvement. He leaves the order to become the Commander of the Inquisition's army.

“Forgive me, sir, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He bows slightly.

“Or over listen, young man?” The First Enchanter raises an eyebrow. The blonde Templar stays silent, embarrass of his situation. Irving motions his hand at Cullen, “No use in standing there. Come join us.”

Cullen listens, and with haste he walks towards our table until he stands by Irving’s side. I can see a flush of pink on his cheeks. It’s after math of his embarrassment from getting caught by my guess. His hand rubs the back of his neck as if it ached. I must have been starting at him longer than I should have because Cullen starts showing signs of discomfort. He avoids my gaze on purpose and clears his throat. Wynne nudges me out of my trance. I mumble an apology towards Cullen and join him the blushing fest.

“How much did you hear, and be honest.” Irving is stern in his question.

The young Templar looks towards his supervisor. The Knight-Commander nods with approval.

“I’ve been listening since the beginning, First Enchanter.”

I let out a groan and a curse, “Fan-fucking-tastic, another unfortunate soul to witness the damn girl crazy.”

Cullen coughs loudly while Irving and Greagior stares at me with dismay expressions. Wynne moans and covers her eyes with her hand and shakes her head in disappointment. The two older gentlemen look in Wynne’s direction. She mumbles something along the lines, “I found her like this. Don’t stare in my direction.”

I immediately apologize yet again for my use of language.

“You’re feelings are perfectly valid, we were just…caught off guard.” Irving assures me and look towards Greagior, “This might be a happy accident. Considering what is currently happening. She is a civilian, she will need a guide and—” He briefly pauses as his expression turns grim, “a protector. He would need to stay with her at all times.”

With a silent agreement, the Knight-Commander directs his attention towards Cullen. I notice Cullen straighten his stance in a solider like manner, as if he’s about to receive an order. “Yes, it does save us some trouble. I don’t have to explain my way around…” Greagior gives me an awkward side glance and clears this throat, “this predicament. Cullen, I will assign you to watch over the girl. Do not let her out of your sight. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Commander!” Cullen nods.

Wynne is taken back from their over protective behavior, “Irving, might this be excessive?”

“Understand a different circumstance, I would agree, Wynne.”

The tension radiating off the three men makes me uncomfortable. Wynne speaks for the both of us, “What exactly has happen in my absence?”

The senior Templar rolls his eyes. Irving shoots a solemn look in his direction before returning his attention to Wynne, “Since Uldred’s return, he has taken the liberty to spreading Loghain’s message and along with spreading a promise that if the Circle supports Loghain as regent, the mages will gain more freedom from the Chantry.”

The news puts Wynne in shock. Her pupils dilate and her entire posture freezes in place.

Greagior huffs and crosses his arms, “He’s spreading false hope. It’s not under regent’s restriction to involve himself in the politics between the Chantry and the Circle.”

“It’s creating some conflict-”

“Chaos, more like.”

The First Enchanter is now his glaring at the Knight-Commander for interrupting him. “His followers are pressuring our apprentices and our recent harrowing mages in taking sides. It’s unsettling, but nothing out of hand.”

“As of yet,” Greagior fusses.

“It is being handled.” Irving snaps at his colleague, but calmly assures everyone in this room afterwards, “But for precautionary measures, Ellen will be under the care of Ser Cullen.” He looks towards me, “I understand how dire your situation is, however the help you require will have to undergo time consuming research. Time we can’t spare it at the moment. There is no telling how long you will be a guest here, but I would appreciate your patience.” He reminds me, “And, Ser Cullen will also be your guide.”

I stare towards Cullen. He smiles and gives me nod.

“This tower can be a labyrinth if you don't know your way around. Hopefully you will not get too familiar with this place.” Irving finishes.

“I rather she didn’t roam around at all.” The Knight-Commander refers to me, “Giving your involvement with the Fade, you will need to have little contact with mages as possible.”

I’m starting to feel more like a prisoner than a guest.

“Unfortunately, I must agree with the Greagior.” Wynne sighs, “It is best to keep your socializing at a minimum. We cannot bring attention to your presence until we can get this resolved.”

My mouth drops slightly, “You can’t be serious?”

It’s clear that I need to keep my distance, but they’re treating me like I’ll be a bad influence on their mages. Bad enough I feel like a prisoner, but now I’m the bad friend that parents don’t want their kids hanging around. Where exactly is the harm? A small interaction and then what? They get turn into an abomination?

…A little too soon to be making jokes like that.

Wynne notices how upset I’m getting, “No need to get offensive, Ellen. We can’t risk Uldred’s fool of followers be aware of your existence and have them relay the news back to him. Remember, Uldred has a dislike towards you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Trust me.” I mumble.

“What do you think would happen if he’s informed? He will harass you, and I fear that might be just the beginning…” Wynne hums quietly, and then utters, “Maybe having a protector is necessary after all.” Greagior smugness doesn’t go unnoticed. She rolls her eyes. Her demeanor softens when she pats my cheek, “And I said ‘until we can get this resolved’ didn’t I? Which I’m sure won’t be for long.”

“Sleeping arrangements is another concern” Irving interrupts.

Wynne already has the solution, “She will stay with me in my living quarters, and before you object to the idea, Greagior,” –The Knight-Commander close the gap of his mouth— “The Templar barracks is not suited for her. We want to keep her socializing at a minimum,” Wynne reminds him, “This is applies to the Templars as well. Maker knows they gossip like Orlesian noble women. She’ll be the center of attention within mere hours. It’s best that her inner circle remains as the four of us for now.”

Irving agrees, “And this way, Ellen will never be alone.”

Greagior is trap in a corner, he grumbles bitterly in agreement with his colleagues.

“There are some matters we need to discuss, Wynne,” Irving acknowledges, “but it can wait until morning.”

Wynne shakes her head, “I rather we didn’t, my friend. There’s much to cover, and this may be the only chance we’ll talk.” She turns her attention to the young Templar, “Ser Cullen, if you please escort Ellen to my quarters.”

He complies, “I will, no worries.”

I begin to protest, “You’re over doing it again! You need rest!” Before I can continue my rant, she places a hand on my shoulder to calm me.

“The only person you need to be focusing on right now is yourself.” Her words don’t smooth my anxiety. “It’s has been a long journey for the both of us, you especially. Go and get settled, I won’t be far behind. From dresser in the left corner of the room, pick a robe of your choosing.”

With Wynne’s permission, I’m given the key to her quarters by Irving. He explains to me he had it in his possession for safe keeping. She confesses that she doesn’t like to carry her key during her travels because she fears she might lose it while on the road. “There are spells for many things, unlocking doors is not one of them.”

She tells Cullen the location of her bedroom. I rise from my seat slowly and thank everyone in the room for their help and for taking me in. Anxiety makes me hesitate to move from my spot. I’m worry about the mages I walk past to get here and the Templars I’ve seen in the grand entrance. Have they already spread rumors that I’m here? And what about running into other people as I’m heading towards Wynne’s living quarters? Wouldn’t it look suspicious?

Wynne notices and grabs my hand to get my attention, “Whatever worries you have, lay them to rest. As of this moment, you’re safe.”

My chest weighs heavy when those words ring: _As of this moment_.

The Circle’s destruction is already set in motion, it won’t be long until Uldred takes over the tower and demons redecorate the walls in innocent blood of the people living here. I no longer have my crossbow, and I have a feeling I won’t be able to get back in time.

I need to warn them about Uldred.

“Wynne wait—”

“No. Go rest,” with her final attempt to shoo me away, Wynne notions Cullen to guide me out of the room. My anxiety continues to build up. I can feel it constricting around my sternum, and it gets tighter the farther I walk away. This is the exactly feeling I had when I walked away from Duncan that night on the battle field. A wondering dreaded thought tells me that this will be the last time ever see them alive.

I grip the key tighter in my hand to calm my worry mind as I watch Cullen shut the door behind us.

“The senior enchanters’ quarters are this way.” Cullen leads me down the hallway. Our arms practically touch as I walk beside him. He uses his height and his bulky armor to hide me from the curious eyes passing by.

My anxious thoughts are soon replace with another, the pressure of acting confident in the company of a handsome gentleman. I notice Cullen’s facial feature up close. Low cheek bones, a strong square jaw, and gorgeous brown color eyes. All are attractive qualities. I can feel my knees going weak at the thought, especially his eyes. Oh, I’m a sucker for pretty eyes…

Holy fuck, Ellen, how can your mind be on men in a time like this? Uldred is building his mini army of blood mages, and all I can think about is Cullen’s sweet honey eyes. Prioritize, damn it!

Turn back now, march into the First Enchanter’s study, and—

The blonde Templar gives me a side glance. “Ellen, is it?”

His modulate voice makes me stay. It’s light and idyllic; I wish I can listen to it all day. Not that his voice wasn’t attractive to begin with in _Dragon Age 2_ , but this complete opposite of the Cullen I’m acquainted with. After being transferred to Kirkwall, he becomes a strict man. He devotes his very being to the Maker, and shows no leniency to those who break the Chantry law. His ideals made him unpleasant to talk to.

“Um, yeah,” I stubble on my words, “I guess we h-haven’t really introduce ourselves?”

He chuckles nervously, “Certainly not. I…wish it was under better circumstances honestly.”

I hum in agreement, “Yeah…you and me both.”

The small conversation trails an awkward silent between us. I’m practically sweating of how uncomfortable this is. I make an attempt to save our conversation by asking, “Since I’m, you know, new to Ferelden…could you can tell me a little bit about this country?”

“You’ve asked the right man.”

Cullen explains Ferelden’s history by memory from the textbooks he read written by a chantry scholar. The country came into exist around the Exalted Age (not sure how long ago that was,) when Calenhad Theirin united the people of the land into a single nation. However, Orlais decided to invade and conquered Ferelden in Blessed Age forty-four. It’s only recently did it regain its independence. Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir, with a group of rebels, fought against the Orlesians for the country’s freedom and won. Some of this information sounds familiar.

“You mentioned Blessed Age forty-four? What’s the forty-four exactly?” I ask.

“It’s the forty-fourth year of Blessed Age.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Well now I feel dumb for asking.

“A little odd you as something like this” Cullen chooses his words carefully. “Where…you’re from, is time not a concern to you?”

I answer with my head swaying back and forward in short rapid shakes, “More like…it works differently? Humor me, what are the name if the months?”

The good news, a year in Thedas consists of twelve months. Bad news, each have a different name and each only has thirty days. Doing the math, three-hundred and sixty days makes a year.

“Yep, defiantly different,” I rub the temple of my forehead with two figures. Cullen tries to get to elaborate, but I quietly, and awkward, shut him down. “Can you humor me again, and explain to me how long each Age last and how they’re named?”

He’s frowns, suspicious that I’m keeping secrets, but goes on to explains, “Each Age lasts a century. The Divine who is present at the end of the era will look at current events in order to determine the name.”

“So…this current Age is called Dragon Age…because” I take a guess, “The Divine saw a dragon?”

Cullen bobs his head, “A high dragon to be exact. A dragon hasn’t been sighted in centuries.”

Oh. That explains a lot.

We’ve reach Wynne’s door. The copper key in my hand fit perfecting into the keyhole, and have no trouble unlocking. Cullen and I don’t linger in the hallway for too long.

“Forgive me for prying, but…” He begins once he shuts the door behind him, “What you said to the First Enchanter hasn’t left my mind. I’m curious as to where you from. We know from history there continents other than Thedas, but there’s little information. You also mentioned not being from this Age?”

I shake my head, “It’s not easy to explain.”

“So is the Fade, it’s one of my first lessons taught by the Order. Magic is unpredicted.” He agrees, “Yet you travelled through it. Unsettling as the idea sounds.”

I sigh, “I shouldn’t be able to! I’m not from, here, _here_.” I see the confusion on his face. “I’m not making any sense am I?” He shakes his head. I let out another sigh, “Would you believe me if I said that I’m from somewhere that magic…doesn’t exist?” Cullen is slight taken back from the news. I continue on, “I should have told Wynne this, among other things, but there are no such things as elves, dwarves, or dragons.” I rant on, “So people claiming that I came out of a magical portal? No…it’s shouldn’t be possible.”

Cullen frowns, “No practice magic at all?” He ponders on this information. “That is a concern you should mention to her and the First Enchanter the moment you’re able. This is something they must know.”

“I shouldn’t be here.” I whimper. I take a deep breath to prevent myself from crying, “I can’t.”

A wave of realization washes over me that I’m trapped in a fictional world. Everything I know is flipped upside down. I want nothing more than to be home right now. I miss it.

“I imagine that is difficult, especially taken away from home unwillingly” His comfort does little to calm me down. “…Do you have family?”

I nod slowly, “My sister and my dad.”

He smiles, “Think of them on nights when you feel the loneliest. Think of your happiness moments with your father and your…younger or older sister?”

“Younger, but not by much,” I let out a small chuckle when I think of Bekah. I could use some of her laid-back and free-spirted personality right about now. “She’s always getting into trouble. I swear. The shit she does, and I’m surprised she hasn’t landed her ass in the slammer.” I smile as I remember some of the stories Bekah had told me and jokes, “Hey, bad decisions make for good stories.”

I ramble off to Cullen what I did growing up with my dad and sister, baking and restoring our old home to its former glory. It was my father’s dream to buy a fixer-upper and fixing it himself. When my sister and I were old enough, we’d help out with the labor. The three of us would get a room done within one weekend. Though, my sister and I dread waking up at the crack of dawn. When dad comes to wake us up, every morning he would made the joke, ‘Who needs workers? I have daughters!’ In the end, he would reward us with pancakes for breakfast and cookies for lunch.

Telling my stories settles me down. Talking about home brings me some comfort.

Cullen shares some of his childhood. He tells me that he’s born in Honnleath, a small village southwest from here, and is the second oldest out of his siblings. The village he describes sounds familiar. I can’t remember how until he tells me a story about he and his younger brother would sword fight in front of golem statue. He says that they sometimes pretend the birds would be the dragons and chase them away.

The golem statue he mentions is Shale, a future companion for the Warden. The golem is from a DLC that I’ve never got a chance to play through. All information I know about Shale is from what I’ve read on Dragon Age Wiki, but I can hardly recall anything about the talking stone weapon right now.

“I envy you for growing up with one sibling.” Cullen chuckles, “My father would often mistake our names when calling for us.”

"And you think mine didn't?” Sometime during our conversation, I roam towards the bed and sit. Cullen stands in front of me. I laugh as I explain to him, “I should tell you, we also have three dogs. So if he didn't call me by my sister's name, it's one of the dog's names. At least yours had the right species when getting your attention."

Our laughter stops when we heard a gurgle growls coming from my stomach. My cheeks are heat up from embarrassment.

“Right, you must be hungry. I meant to ask during our talk, I apologize.”

“Oh! No, no! It’s fine, really!” I smile as I assure him, “I enjoy talking you.”

The compliment leaves a trail of silent awkwardness between us, at least to me. I can feel heat radiating off my cheeks from embarrassment. Cullen rubs the back of his neck with his gantlet cover hand. His rotates his neck to the side, and his eyes follow.

“You…keep for good company, yourself.”

I tussle with my hair. I grab a loose strand with both hands, and my index figures smooth out the split ends.  

His recovers quicker than I do. Cullen places his hands to his side and holds his head high. He reverts back to his stoic manner, “I’ll return shortly.” He bids me farewell with a nod and walks out the room.

I immediately slap my forehead with my sweaty palm, “You can’t get any more awkward, Ellen?!” I swear, being in the presence of a handsome man, especially ones that gives a compliment, and I become a complete WRECK!

I study the layout of Wynne’s bedroom. The room size is the same as my bedroom I share with my roommate back home. A small stand is next to me with a pot of tall looking plant sitting on top. Elfroot I think that’s what it is. Wynne pointed the plant out to me once during our journey. Someone has been caring for it since the leaves haven’t withered away and the soil is moist. To my left, at the end of her bed, are a bookcase and a wooden chair.

Across from me is the large wardrobe Wynne mentions to me, a face wash station, and a changing canvas. I can make out an outline of a small tub behind the canvas.

She did say I can pick out something out.

I hop off the bed and walk towards it. Opening the small doors, I immediately notice her collection of green and red color robes. I frown as I take one of them place it against my body. The problem isn’t the fitting, but the length. I’ll be dragging the hem on the floor. I’m afraid I’ll trip, and with doom and destruction around the corner to wear something like this may not be best idea.

I look through the drawers and find a pair of pants that can fit around my thick thighs, a pale yellow shirt, and a rag large enough to be a towel and a bar of soap.

A light knock at the door, I turn my head towards it to see Cullen with a basket full of bread, cheese, and fruit. He presses his back toward the wooden door, it creeks. There’s a bright pink blush across his face, “Maker’s breath that was embarrassing. The stares I was getting, you would think I was a dragon.”

I laugh at his comment, “I’m sorry.”

The Templar shakes his head, “You have nothing to apologize for. Please eat, there’s plenty.”

I place the fresh set of clothes I found on the bed, and I hop back up on the bed. Cullen takes the wooden chair from the corner of the room, and pulls it next to me. He sets the basket in his lap. I take a slice of cheese and a loaf of bread.

“Thank you, Cullen!” I take bite of the bread immediately after. The meal is bland, but satisfying. I make myself a simple cheese sandwich. Cullen explains to me the Circle’s layout to me as we eat.

Most of the Circle's libraries are on the first floor along with the apprentices. Full-fledge mages are housed on the floor above. The Chantry, stockrooms, and laboratories for mages to conduct researches are also on the second floor. The third floor, the floor we’re currently on, is where the senior enchanters’ quarters are hosted. The rest of the empty rooms are used for meetings or personal studying. Cullen and the rest of the Templar Order live on the fourth floor. At the top of the tower, the pinnacle he calls it, is the Harrowing Chamber. He tells me it’s only assessable through their quarters only, for safety measures.

I’m familiar with the Harrowing. All apprentices must go through the process in order to become a mage. From my understanding, an apprentice enters the Fade and encounters a demon. They’re tested on their will power to resist its demonic temptation. If they fail, they get possessed and the Templars will have to slay them. 

I’d nibble on the strawberries in between my sandwich. Cullen notices I hardly touch the fruit that’s beside it.

“Is there something wrong with the apple?”

I shake my head, “Oh, no. I’m sure it’s fine. I personally don’t like apples. They just taste funny to me.” I snatch the apple and give it to him, “You could have it, if you want.”

He hesitates for a moment to take the smooth red fruit from me. I flash him a smile show that I insist he should. Cullen nods, and I feel his leather covered fingers brushing against my palm to grab it.

“I was wondering,” I awkwardly ask, “how do I draw a bath here?”

“I would be happy to show you, however…” He clears his throat, “That requires you leaving the room.”

I frown, “Right. Of course it does.” I sigh, unhappy with the thought sleeping in my filth tonight. “I just…I don’t want to ask you to do it. You’ve already brought food for me. It would be too—”

“Ellen, it won’t be much trouble. I promise you.” He smiles. Cullen finishes his apple and stands up from the chair. He sets the basket down in his place. “The circumstance is complicated, but you’re not at fault for this.” Cullen reminds me. “I’ll return momentarily,” He leaves the room once again and I eat the rest my food in silence.

Just as I finish my second loaf of bread, I hear two voices outside the door. One of them is Cullen’s and the other belonging to young female. I remember the Knight-Commander’s warning of being seen. I need a place to hide and fast. I scan the room and notice the wardrobe is bigger enough for me to fit. With little choice I have, I rush toward the wardrobe and hop right in it before they enter the quarter.

“She isn’t here, Cullen.” I hear young woman stating. I also hear a swishing of water.

I’m not the only one taking the warning seriously. Cullen lies, “Well, she was here. Wynne went to meet with the First Enchanter and be back shortly.”

My heart beats faster as they approach closer to where I’m hiding.  I try to regulate my breathing for fear she’ll hear me.

“Why ask you to draw her bath?”

“She didn’t, not to me at least.” Cullen pauses, obviously thinking of a lie, “I was told…by the Knight-Commander.”

“The Knight-Commander?” The young woman questions, “Wynne, a senior enchanter, ask the Knight-Commander of the Templars to draw her bath, and then he then orders you draw her bath?”

I mentally slap my forehead. Oh my god, that’s the worse lie in existence!

Cullen laughs nervously, “I do not question his orders, only serve them.”

“Yes, yes. You’ll ‘do as you’re commanded’ like a good Templar” It sounds like she’s heard this before. She teases him, “Honestly, Cullen, you’re not just a tad bit curious?”

“N-Not in the least bit.” He immediately after, he states, “One, two, and lift!” I can hear something clank against the tub and water being poured into it.

“I understand he and Wynne are close” The girl begins to gossip, “and with a request like this, wouldn’t you think they’re having an affair?”

“Neria,” Cullen groans, not at all surprise by her assumptions, “I’d rather we not talk about something this inappropriate.”

“Oh, relax!” Her tone is playful, “I only tease! But you have to admit, favoritism like this is how rumors get started.” She giggles. The moment of tense silence is broken when she adds on, “He’s too old for her anyways. Wynne likes them young.”

I hear Cullen letting out a frustrated groan and the woman in the room is amused. Her giggles turns into a bellow laugh.

The wood dust floating around in wardrobe tickles my nose. There’s no stopping my sneeze. I cover my mouth and nose, and try to hold it in. My sneeze becomes a loud squeak. I mentally curse every vulgar word in my multi language dictionary for not being quiet.

“What was that?”

“A mouse!” Cullen quickly replies, “Mostly like a mouse. Pesky vermin! I’ll take care of it.”

Before any more questions can be asked, Cullen shuts the door. It feels I waited an entirety until I hear Cullen calling my name. I slowly emerge from the wardrobe.

“Sorry, um, did…she really believe that?”

Cullen chuckles nervously, “Her not breaking down this door at this very moment I will take as a good sign.” He recovers from the suspense of getting caught, “We are not finished with filling the tub. If you could stay of out sight until then…”

“Right, I’ll um…I’ll try to be a little quieter.”

He jokes, “That would be wise.”  Cullen sees a cracking smile on my face before shut the door behind him. I climb back to wardrobe and silently twiddle my thumbs as I wait. I’m bored within minutes wishing I have something to draw with or have my prehistoric sidekick phone on hand. Playing Tetris demo on that dinosaur would be better than being left alone with my anxious thoughts.

The last thing I want to think about is the upcoming destruction of the Circle and what the hell I should I do when the time comes.

I don’t want to think about how damn screwed I am.

Cullen and his friend –I assume she is, the way they’ve act towards each other— come back and pour another tub of water into the bathtub.

“Though I didn’t ask, thank you for your help, Neria.”

“Have my favorite Templar doing the heavy work?” She sarcastically gasps, “Perish the thought! I don’t care how strong your good- looking muscles are.”

Cullen coughs nervously and clears his throat to avoid. I can hear her laughing, mostly likely at his awkward behavior.

“Ah, um…” He clears his throat again, “Wynne…she’ll be back very soon. I’m sure. We…should head out.”

Neria laughs again and continues to tease him, “Oh, yes, yes. I’m sure she will be at any given moment. I wonder what would she think when she see a young mage and a Templar, alone, and in her room?”

“All the more reason to leave now.” He stumbles on his words, but none the less he sounds like his solider self.

I hear feet shuffling away from me and the wooden door creaking open and being shut. I wait roughly two minutes before I open the wardrobe doors. I listen for any voices outside the room, but I’m greeted by silence.  I take that Cullen and Neria aren’t standing outside and taking a walk somewhere.

Carefully, I step out of the wardrobe and tip toe to the door to lock it. I feel a little safer knowing no one will walk in. I gather the clothes, the rag, and the soap from the bed. I walk towards the tub and set my things on the floor.

I strip my dirty clothes. I groan when taking off the breast band. It’s extremely tight around my chest, I haven’t realized how tight until I see dented mark on my skin left behind. The imprints on my skin are sensitive and they burns slightly as I get into the steamy water. As of this moment, I am happy that I’m petite because this bathtub is small. I exhale my stress and begin combing out the tangles with my fingers. It didn’t feel right to me to put on new clothes when I haven’t properly bathed in over a week.

I do my best to dry off completely with the rag. I mood lightens when I put on the new clean clothes. I should let Cullen know I’m finish with my bath. I’m not exactly sure how to empty the tub. I should also ask how I can do my laundry. 

I peek through the keyhole to see a familiar Templar outfit standing out.

Oh good, he returned!

I unlock the door and open it immediately, “Oh, hey, Cullen, I was wondering how to I do my lan—”

Next to a guilty-looking Cullen is petite woman with sandy blonde hair and large eyes. Her hair is short and choppy with two small pigtails. Her eyes are a mix brown color. I could mistake them for doe eyes. She’s wearing green and brown mage robes. The leather belt around her waist has a large golden oval buckle of the Chantry’s sun. Unlike Cullen, she has a mischievous smile on her face.

"I was honestly expecting a pup," She says light-heartedly as she crosses her arms, "But this? Oh Cullen, you are something else." This was the same female voice I heard earlier. This is the woman who help draw ~~Wynne’s~~ my bath.

I mumble a curse, "Shit."

I am busted.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. DONE. Finally...
> 
> Alright. I said last time that my chapters seem to be getting longer and longer when I sit down to sit. Well...it's true. I wrote like thirty pages for this chapter, and I decided to cut it half, BUT STILL ENDED UP THIRTY PAGES BECAUSE OF EDITING. (HOW?!)
> 
> I won't lie, I literally cried working this chapter. I was so concern with grammar and the flow I just about throw my laptop out the window. Probably created some new mistakes, but you know what I'm not a professional editor and either is my roommate/beta. I will state this in every damn chapter because that's how much I appreciate her, my roommate a saint for dealing with my problematic ass. For putting up with my snapping and bullshit whining, this is for you, my heterosexual life-panther.

“I knew she like them young,” Neria eyes trail up and down my figure, “But this is a first I hearing Wynne bedding a woman.”

“Maker’s breath!”

I can feel the heat rising from my cheeks, and shout, “Crap, it’s not like that!”

“Oh?” The petite woman smirks, “Guess that’s good for you, Cullen. She’s cute—”

“Neria…” He groans.

“I’m only teasing.” She rolls her brown eyes. “Maker, lighten up you two.”

“With all joking aside, I’ve never seen you before.” Neria raises an eyebrow. “Are you a new apprentice? Well, if that was true, you wouldn’t be allowed on this floor.”

“No… no, I’m not a mage. I’m a guest,” I answer her.

“A guest?”

“It might be best to move this conversation inside the room,” Cullen suggests, checking around the hallway. I agree with him, and step aside so that they may enter the room.

I make my way to sit on Wynne’s bed. The newcomer, Neria, decides to stand in middle of Wynne’s quarters, and Cullen leans back against the closed door. He seems uncomfortable doing so, as if the wood is splintering. He crosses his arms and guards the door.

“In a way, I’m a guest,” I explain the best I can, “But I’m hiding?”

“It can’t be known that she’s here,” Cullen states.

Neria once again raises an eyebrow in my direction. “You can’t be seen? Why?”

“Part of it is they don’t want Uldred to know I’m here.” I frown. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

She shrugs. “He doesn’t like anyone. The man is always walking around like he has a stick up his arse.” Then she holds up two of her slender fingers. “Two things I’ve caught. First thing, you mention ‘they.’ Who are they?”

“Wynne, the Knight-Commander,” –My eyes meet with Cullen’s— “and the First Enchanter.”

Neria notices, and rotates her head to her Templar friend. She tucks some of her sandy blonde bangs behind her ears, her long, pale, pointed ears. Elven ears I remind myself, there are elves in Dragon Age. She’s an elf. Neria is an elf. Holy crap I’m talking to an actual ELF!

“Because the looks you gave each other weren’t obvious enough, which leads me to the second thing.” She crosses her arms. “There’s more to what you’re telling me.”

Cullen says nothing and avoids her gaze. Neria just continues to stare until she makes the poor man uneasy. He sighs.

Guilt drives him to say, “I am under orders not to speak of it.”

Neria scowls, but doesn’t press us. “Fine,” She addresses me next. “That leaves you, unless you ordered to keep quiet as well?”

“In a way?” I give her a similar answer, “I was ordered to not socialize with anyone.”

“By ‘anyone,’ you mean mages?” She feels offended at my comment. Dramatically, she throws her hands in the air, “By the Maker’s blood does the Knight-Commander trust us so little to be civil with outsiders?!”

“Actually…” I frown. “It’s the other way around. I’m the one who can’t be trusted.”

“Explain?”

“I’m not a mage—”

The elf mage tilts her head in confusion, “Neither are the sisters and Templars” –Neria makes a quick hand gesture towards Cullen—“that live here. What makes you so special?” She shows her annoyance as knit her brows together, “What did you do to make the Knight-Commander so wary of you?”

“I…” Again I look at Cullen, debating if I should tell her.

He shakes his head. “It’s best if you don’t. Wynne and the Knight-Commander were very clear on that.”

“You really keeping this shush-shush about this?” Neria rolls eyes, “What? Are you some type of princess from a far-away land?”

I snort. “If only. Unfortunately, it’s more complicated than that. You wouldn’t believe even if I told you.”

“Dare I say: try me. Whatever it is can’t measure to what I’ve been dealing with lately.” Her fake enthusiasm makes me cringe. She huffs out an irritated laugh. “I’ve had to clear out a cellar full of giant spiders. My best friend was having relations with a Chantry Sister. My other best friend decided to help him and his lover escape the Circle WITHOUT telling me. Probably for the best because I would have beaten them both! I come to find out one has been practicing blood magic, while the other gets recruited to be a Grey Warden!” Neria adds on, “I also passed my harrowing recently. Demons are oh-so charming when they want to take over your mind.” 

Her stare hardens, “Unless this Circle gets taken over by demons, nothing will faze me anymore.”

I open my mouth to say something, but decide against it. I shut my lips together, a fish out of water. I’m not sure how to respond, but I do have the urge to suddenly blurt out: ‘I came from the Fade’ just to see her reaction.

Cullen speaks on my behalf, “Ellen needs the aid from the First Enchanter to get back home.”

This makes little sense to the elf. “The only reason you would need his expertise if it involves magic, powerful magic.” Neria is more confuse than ever and turns to me once again, “You need magic to get you back home? Where in Thedas are you from? You can’t take a carriage or a ship?”

I sit there silently, wearing a nervous smile.

“Fine, I won’t press on any farther,” Neria sighs, “Though, I still believe it won’t measure to anything I’ve experienced. I’ll come by tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Neria, that’s not—.” Cullen begins, but is cut off.

“First Enchanter has his plate full with Uldred and his crazy proposals. It’ll be some time before he can get to it. So as his pupil, I’ll help him get started with this research.” Neria glances over to me one last time, “It will take you forever if you work alone. You don’t have to tell me every detail. I just need enough to point me in the right direction.”

“That would help because… well… I can’t read.”

“Oh?” This peaks her interest. I let out a nervous chuckle. An overwhelming fear that’s she’s judging me. Cullen watches the exchange silently. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” She walks toward me and extends her hand. “My name is Neria Surana,” I accept her handshake as she continues to talk, “and we’re going to be working together for the time being.”

“I’m name is Ellen… Ellen Solomon.”

“Well, Ellen. I’ll see you in the morning.” Neria strides in the direction of the door, and Cullen steps aside. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” She takes her leave. Cullen shuts the door after her and sighs.

“I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I shake my head. “It’s alright.”

“But you can trust that she won’t spread a word of you.”

I laugh. “I’m glad you stopped me from saying more.” My laughter dies down shortly after. “She wouldn’t have believed me anyways.”

“She would have laughed, if I’m speaking honestly.” The young Templar chuckles, “Nevertheless, she still would be willing to help, and she’s a bright mage. It’s why she was handpicked by the First Enchanter to be one of his pupils.” He smiles when he talks about her. I swear I can see a dust of pink on his cheeks.

The door opens to reveal an exhausting Wynne holding a pile blankets in her hands.

“Wynne!” I call out to her, “How did the meeting go?”

“There was much to go over.” Cullen takes the blankets from her as she talks. “However, I got my point across. Irving and the rest of the senior enchanters on the board meeting will be having a discussion with Uldred about his irrational behavior, and putt an end to his uproar.” Wynne cradles her head.

“Do you want a bath?” I hop off the bed and walk towards her, “I can—”

She shakes her head, “A bath does sound nice, but I’m very tired. I’ll have a proper bath tomorrow.” Wynne turn to Cullen, “You’re dismissed for the night, Ser Cullen. I will need you to be here early in the morning since I will not. There are matters I must attend to, and I don’t wish for Ellen to be alone for long.”

Cullen acknowledges her with a nod before Wynne walk to her wardrobe.

He reminds me in a hush tone as he hands me the blankets, “Tell her what you’ve told me. About the land you’re from doesn’t practice magic.”

We briefly stare into each other’s eyes. I watch him leave and shut door behind him. I push the reminder in the back of my mind. My concern at the moment is Wynne’s wellbeing.

After venturing on a nine day trip, she already wants to go back to her duty for the Circle?

I scowl. “Ok, Wynne, seriously?! The meeting I totally understand, but you just got from a long walking trip! Shouldn’t you be spending tomorrow resting? Like sleeping in or just staying in bed?” I face the wardrobe. I see her backside when she picks out a new set of robes.

Wynne lets out a chuckle. “I don’t like the idea of lying about.”

I take a step towards her, “Then at least sit on your ass all day, and just… I don’t know, knit?” –An idea pops into my mind—“Knit dreadfully long scarfs!” I ponder before asking, “You do knit, right?”

She chuckles again. She shuts the door, and turns to face me, “I do, and I think I might, once I’ve taken care of my morning duties.” Wynne’s eyes soften, “You worry too much about me, child, when you should be worrying about yourself.”

The tub catches her attention, “I’ll wash up, and turn in for the night. I suggest you do the same.” Wynne walks behind the changing canvas. The lingering silence tells me the conversation is over, and any other conversations can wait to be discussed until tomorrow. It’s not like she can do something about it now if I tell her about my world. And if she could, then its best I wait until she has a full night’s worth of rest.

I can hear her strip her dirt robes off and the swishing of the bath water in the tub.

Is she… bathing in the same water I used?

I’ve only read it in text books. During the medieval Age, people would reuse their bath water. The gross thought is push to the side, and as the tiredness takes over.  My eyelids begin to get heavy. I walk next to the bed and unfold the blankets on the floor. I bundle them together to make myself a nest that I’ll be sleeping in. I grab a pillow from the bed and toss it on the floor where my head will be laying. I get under the covers and rest my head on the fallen pillow. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than the bed rolls I’ve been sleeping in.

I lay on my stomach and snuggle closer with the pillow. It smells of antique wood and pigeon feathers. The wood scent reminds me of the old house I grew up in. My thoughts begin to drift to my family. It’s been a while since I’ve called them. I wonder if they knew I’m missing. I’m sure Sabrina has told them by now.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I take Cullen’s advice and think about my family. I think about dad’s gentle smile and imagining him baking chocolate crinkle cookies. The dogs are at him feet, all three of them. Bekah sitting on the kitchen floor, with a guitar in hand singing about a song she wrote describing her mischievous lifestyle.

For the first time since I’ve arrived, I’m not afraid to fall asleep. I don’t dream of darkspawn or Ostagar.

* * *

 

I wake up to a knock at the door. I groan at the loud banging sound and the bright sun shining out the window. It blinds me. It takes me a moment to comprehend my surroundings… my not blurry surroundings. I’m not feeling any discomfort in my eyes, so I’m not wearing contacts.

I pat around my face. I also didn’t fall asleep with my glasses on. I continue to pat around my pillow and look under it. There is no sign of my glasses. So then how can I—

I hear another knock, and then I remember where I am.

They’re in my pack, broken, and I’m on floor in Wynne’s room. I’m at the Circle Tower.

The bed next to me is empty. The blanket belonging to the bed is on top of me. Wynne must have placed it on me and put a provisional spell on me before she left this morning. Damn it, how early did she get up, the ass crack of dawn? Did she even sleep?!

I let out another groan. I hoped to explain the ‘no magic’ news over breakfast… or maybe over a cup of coffee. Does the Circle have coffee?

“Hey, you awake? Better be, it’s mid-morning.” I hear Neria’s voice muffling on the other side of the door.

More questions run through my head. Mid-morning? What’s that supposed to mean? Is it ten in the morning or close to it?

I’m too tired for this…

She knocks for the third time, and I’m force to leave behind my warm nest of blankets to answer the door. I yawn, and rub the sleep crud from both my eyes. Neria is smirking and Cullen greets me a shy good morning as they both enter the room.

“Good morning, beautiful lady.” Neria teases, “Sleep well?”

I let out another yawn. “Enough. I think.”

 “You’ve missed breakfast,” Neria says as she gives me a bundle of cloth, “Here. I thought I’d sneak you something from the kitchen.”

I stare at the bundle in my hands briefly before unwrapping it. A loaf of bread, blocks of cheese, grapes, and then…an apple core?

“Oh! Sorry about that.” The petite elf takes the core. I watch her fold her fingers around it, and with magic, it disintegrates into ash. She walks to the open window and releases it into the wind. She dusts the rest off her hands.

 “I ate that on the way here. Cullen told me you don’t like apples. It would’ve been a shame for it to go to waste.”

I nod, silently impressed of what became of the apple. Is that how trash gets disposed of in Thedas?

Our eyes connect and she raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh… um…” I shake my head. “Nothing, sorry.”

I sit back down in my nest of blankets and take bites of the meal given to me.

Cullen leans against the door, and Neria joins me on the floor.

“We’ll undergo researching after you eat. I know the perfect library where we can study. Also…” She takes off the strap resting over her shoulder and flips the flap open to take out a small book. I hadn’t noticed her satchel hanging next to her waist.

“Huzzah!”

I stare at the green book. The title is engraved in gold. The unfamiliar runes look more like a clever and elegant design than a language. “Um…?”

“I brought you _Master Thief._ It was one of my favorite Black Fox fables when I was growing up, and easy to read.” Neria places the book at the foot of my lap. I dust off the bread crumbs off my hands and pick up the book to flip through.

Nothing makes sense to me as I stare at it.

“Cullen will be able to teach you while I research in the meantime.” She smiles.

“I will?” The Templar raises his confusion, obviously not prepared.

Neria turn her attention to him, and I do the same, “Of course you are! Lending aid to people is a Templar’s job. Or at least that’s what you keep telling me.”

“Neria, I don’t think—”

“Oh shush, you can do it. I know you can.” The elf dismisses his thought with a wave of her hand. “She will have to assist Irving in his research eventually, and she can’t if she doesn’t know how to read.”

He sighs, but nods, an indication he’s given up.

“Which leads to a vital question.” In the corner of my eye, I see Neria facing me. “Where do I begin? What kinds of magic are we studying to get you back home… wherever that may be?” She continues on, “I’ve thought about it last night. I assumed two different possibilities, and time traveling magic seemed to be the reasonable one. You act weird enough to not be from this Age.”

Cullen frowns, and I ask nervously, “And… um… what was the other possibility?”

The mage shakes her head, tries to keep a straight face as she tells me, “Something ludicrous, like Fade traveling.” It’s futile. Like Cullen predicted, Neria rolls her head back and laughs. “T-Tearing down the Veil and _physically_ walking into the Fade!” She laughs so hard tears begin to form, and yells out, “Tear d-down a metaphysical barrier!”

Her laughter dies down, and eventually calms down enough to say, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” The elf giggles. “I get these crazy ideas when I can’t sleep. Now, time magic—”

My distraught expression must be obvious, because her smile immediately vanishes. “What’s the matter? You look as if a darkspawn got a hold of your pup.”

I close the gap between my lips, not realizing that my mouth was open. I frown. That’s exactly the type of magic I need researched.

I glance towards Cullen. His gaze is not on us but the floor. He’s avoiding us purposely.

“Wait…” Neria pauses, as if connecting the dots in her mind, “You… need to get into the Fade?” Slowly repeating what she saying to help her make sense, “You came from the Fade?”

I begin to feel nervous, “Not… exactly from the Fade. Just… I… through it, and—”

“Andraste’s bloody sword,” She says breathlessly and scrambles to get on her feet, “What kind of joke is this?”

I’m startled by her actions. I begin to scooch away from her; it’s difficult to get far with food in my lap.

“Neria,” Cullen strives to be by his friend side. He places a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, Ellen is—”

“A demon taking human form? Yes, I can see that Cullen!” Neria’s breathing gets heavier. Her anger rises, “The question I’m wondering is WHY is she ALIVE? Better yet, why is Master Irving AGREEING to help?”

Her yelling makes me snap, “I’M NOT A DEMON!”

My tone freezes her in place, and then an uncomfortable quiet settles around us. I grow tired of being compared to a demon, and the immediate reaction to put me to death. I try not to cry as I repeat myself, “I’m not a demon.”

Neria side eyes her Templar friend to confirm what I’m saying is true.

Cullen nods. “She’s very much human, and both Wynne and Irving have said this.”

The elf only gawks at me. “That’s not possible. The only things that come out of the Fade are demons and darkspawn.”

I want nothing more than to crawl under a rock. “You’re not the only one who’s having hard time accepting this.” Denial comes and goes since being in Thedas. There will be some days I’m completely fine, and other days I cry myself to sleep at night. I crack under the negative pressure. I wipe a tear that escape my right eye. “This is why the Knight-Commander and Wynne don’t want me talking to anyone.”

“I’ll say…”

Once Cullen realizes that Neria won’t assault me, he takes a step back from her.

I softly groan, “I was told I came out of a portal. But I don’t remember that. I don’t even remember what I was doing before. Nothing comes to mind expect…seeing my friend leave for a trip.”

And who knows how long that was? I could be missing a day worth of memories, or maybe days, possibly weeks. That would be worse.

Her expression is rapidly changing when she thinks. Crinkle forehead, pouting her lips, and her eyes roam around the room. As soon as we make eye contact, I see her eyes light up in realization. The forehead lines begin to soften. “You traveled through the Fade, and so does this mean? You’re from another plane of existence?” She shortens her answer, “From another world?”

I nod when I finally have the courage to look her in the eyes. “Something like that.”

“Maker…”

Silence rain over us for a moment or two before Neria is on the ground in front of me. She takes my hands in hers and apologizes, “I’m sorry for calling you a demon.”

“It’s fine,” I response automatically.

“If I reacted like this, how is it that you’re still alive after explaining all this to the Knight-Commander? He would have struck you down the moment you said you came out of the Fade.”

Cullen peeps, “He would have if Wynne hadn’t stepped in.”

“Wynne was there when I came out of the portal… and so was Uldred.”

The moment I mention his name, Neria quickly says, “Ah.”

“Uldred was convinced that I was a demon or something. He wanted to lock me in a cage, but Wynne insisted they put me under her care.”

“And the reason why you’re hiding from Uldred,” She states as she understands, “He’s an unfair man when something doesn’t go his way. If he had the opportunity to ruin you, he no doubt would.” Neria ponder something. Her eyes are focus on the ground. “He could use your presence to further his campaign. Demote Master Irving from his position by convincing people he’s corrupted by housing you, and then Uldred would be have a chance to be the First Enchanter.”

“A bit of stretch isn’t it?” Cullen comments his concerns.

“But it’s not beneath him to do it.”

Neria pushes away her thoughts and gives me a small smile. “We’ll just have to be aware of our surroundings when we go to the library. If you’re done with your meal we should get going.”

I agree. I’ve lost my appetite with the drama that happened a moment ago. Setting the food down on the floor once I’m done, gently, I stand up. Out of Wynne’s wardrobe, I grab a clean breast band, along with a fresh pair of socks. I change behind the stall, and finish getting ready by rolling up the hemming of my pants and put my converses on.

Neria leads Cullen and I to one of the smaller libraries on third floor to study, at least Neria says it’s smaller. The room is circular, with high ceilings and bookcases that are just as tall and full of thick spine books. There are three tables in the room and stools surrounding them. Paper scrolls and ink bottles are set neatly aside, and waiting to be used. It bubbles me with joy to be surrounded by so many books, I only wish my roommate was with me. She would have loved the sight of this. We could spend hours reading the lore and—

My inner enthusiasm quickly disappears by fact that I can’t read any of them.

“We’ll start with this library. I’ll gather what material I can on the Fade here.” Neria turns towards Cullen and I with a smirk, “You two get comfortable somewhere and get to practicing. The sooner you know how to read, the sooner you can help me.” She immediately goes to the farthest bookcase.

We stare at each other. Cullen is holding the _Master Thief_ in his hand. With the same hand, he gesture to the table closer to us to sit at. I comply and follow him. I watch Neria contemplate which book to grab before getting it off the shelf.

“I’m not sure how much you’ll learn from me.” His tone is bashful. He lifts his right hand and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s shouldn’t be too bad?”

I mean that with the honest truth. In my mind, this was no different than learning Hebrew. My family didn’t join a synagogue until I was in middle school. With zero experience reading and writing the language, my sister and I were placed in a Wednesday night class with eight year olds who were just learning the language. I got teased, sure, but it wasn’t for long. My sister and I picked it up quickly.

Cullen places the fable book in front of me and opens it to page one. He begins to read, and points to each word while doing so, “The glowing sun wakes the farmer at dawn.”

The capital 'a' reminds me of a capital 'f' with two tildes and the 'g' is pretty much our version of an 'x'.

“The glowing sun…wakes…the farmers at…dawn?” I repeat it back. Cullen points at each letter and what sound it makes. I remember Wynne’s dwarven rune lesson on the road that the system follows the five vowels and nineteen consonants rule. It’s close enough to what I’m used to.

This gives me an idea.

“Hold on.”

I grab a scroll of paper nearby, the bottle of ink, and a feather quill. I don’t know much about how to write with a quill. I’ve only seen it done on movies and Tumblr gifs. It’s was only mention in one of my art classes in college, but we never practice.

But…it can’t be that hard right?

I dip the quill in the ink bottle. Out of habit when working with paint brushes, I scrape the excess ink off the nib. I press nib on the sheet and lightly stroke my words on the paper.

My wrist hurt to keep my hand steady as I write the alphabet. My penmanship is crap, but it’s legible. I compare the letters Cullen taught me and write the new letter next to the one I’m familiar with.

“Ok?” I smile. “What’s the next sentence?”

Cullen asks curiously, “What’s this you’ve written?”

“I was taught a different set of letters to read. I’m translating the letters to get a better understanding the runes that you use.”

“If it helps,” He matches my smile with his own. “Then let us continue.”

I decipher each letter and make a cheat sheet for myself. It’ll take me some time to memorize each symbol and what sound it makes, but its progress! I keep examining my key answers when reading the book. I get confused with words using the letter ‘y’ or ‘j’ because they use the same rune.

We would take short breaks in-between our studying. Without a clock or my phone, don’t have a sense of time. I go by what my stomach tells me, so during one of our breaks Cullen volunteered to get all three of us something to eat.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

I watch Cullen stand from his seat to leave. A fat sigh comes out Neria’s mouth, followed by a groan. She has an entire table full with open books.

“How’s the research?” I ask her.

She hums in disapproval. “Not anywhere good.” Neria sighs and push the book she’s reading to the side. She walks to the third table that isn’t occupied with any books and sits in one of the chairs. I join her as she uncovers her discovery. “It all leads back to the theory of using blood magic to tear a slit of the Veil. Even with that type of magic, it will only open a sliver of it…”

The word ‘blood magic’ sends a shiver down my spine. As if the name didn’t give it away, it’s the kind of magic that allows a mage to use blood to cast spells. It’s doesn’t necessarily have to be the user’s blood for it to work… which is why it’s viewed as dangerous and sinister. If any mages practice the art of blood magic, they usually don’t have good intentions for it.

“Why blood magic?”

Neria raise an eyebrow, “How much do you know about the darkspawn?”

I shrug and think for a moment. “They’re tainted monsters. They want to take over the surface. Destroy even.”

The elf nods, “And do you know how they came to be?”

I try to remember the lore. “The Tevinter mages enter the Golden City, and they corrupted the realm? The Maker cursed them, and they returned to Thedas as darkspawn?”

“According to the Chantry,” Neria reminds me, “Lore is formed from the exaggerated truth.” Shortly after, she adds on, “And then stretched thin.”

“You don’t believe it?”

It’s her turn to shrug, “I think of it as a possible theory of how darkspawn came to be. Back to topic, Tevinter mages were the only people who were able to get into Fade. How do you think they did it?”

I understand what she was hinting, but answer her anyways, “They used blood magic?”

“Blood magic is the most powerful kind of magic there is, and it’s the only magic the can tear the Veil open completely.” Neria explains, “However, they had to use excessive amounts to rip it open and make the opening large enough to walk through.”

I’m not willing to participate in that kind of activity in order for me to get back home.

Nope.

“Theoretically, you should be a darkspawn too.” Neria frowns at the thought. “You’re not even an abomination. It makes it all more curious as what kind of magic was used that could allow you to travel through the Fade without suffering any consequences?”

“It’s really that odd?”

“I explained before the Veil is a metaphysical barrier. Thedas and the Fade share the same plane of existence without interfering with each other.”

“They are two different realms that can only be connected through magic or sleep. Demons and spirits are embodying emotions. That is why it’s so easy for the beings of the Fade to possess people, especially mages. We have a stronger connection to the Fade, and we can act as their mediums—”

Neria stops mid-sentence, “Oh… sorry, I got carried away. The point is the Fade is a complex conceptual plane. There’s nothing physical about it. If a person enters the Fade, body and all, it will transform your being accordingly to abide its reality.”

I understand the gist of her lecture. “And I’m guess those changes don’t disappear when I return to Thedas?”

“Correct!” Neria nods.

“How do you know all this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t. It’s a theory, but it’s one that makes sense. How else would demons be able to maintain their form here? The concept of emotions is already established and—I was going to start another lecture. Sorry.”

I laugh and smile. “No, its fine.”

“Before I lose topic again, what kind of magic is practiced where you’re from?”

I shake my head. “None.”

Neria is taken back by my answer. She crosses her arms and leans forward on the table to rest on them. “None?” She repeats.

“Magic doesn’t exist.”

“That’s impossible.” She squint her eyes. “Or else you wouldn’t have traveled through the Fade as you did.”

Cullen returns a basket of food and joins us at the table. Neria has not let go the subject go, and throughout the meal I try to convince her there’s isn’t any magic on Earth, my home.

“No magic is practiced at all?”

“I’m telling you, there is no magic what so ever,” I state bitterly and begin to list off other things, “There are no dwarves, elves, or dragons, and especially the Fade! That definitely doesn’t exist.”

“Neria,” Cullen scolds. “It might be best to put it the rest. You are getting the—”

She ignores him. “Do you dream when you sleep?”

“What?” I raise an eyebrow.

Neria repeats herself, slower this time, “Do you dream?”

I scoff, “Well, yeah? Everyone does?”

The elf smirks, as if she’s won the argument. “And there’s your proof.  Your mind enters the Fade through dreaming, even if you don’t remember them. That is a fact. If the Fade exists, so does magic.” She treats her self-victory by take a large bite out of her apple.

Neria saviors the taste of the fruit before continuing, “It’s possible the Veil surrounding your plane is dense enough that magic can’t penetrate it. How interesting…” I can see the inspiration light up on her face.

“Idea!” Neria mumbles with an apple in her mouth and scrambles to get up from the table. She returns to her research.

There is nothing magical about dreaming! I wanted to shout. Dreams are formed from our unconscious mind during REM stage of sleep. However, I keep the disagreement to myself. If that what motivates her in finding answers, who am I to complain?

Cullen and I finish our meal shortly after, and we return to our lessons. I continue on the last page I read while eyeballing at my cheat sheet.

“The game… is… set?” I recite it again with more enthusiasm, “The game is set!”

“Good,” Cullen praises, “This time try to read the next sentence without looking at your paper.”

I frown. “Alright, just… give me a few minutes to review it.”

Our session is interrupted with a scream echoing outside the hall.

The three of us exchange glances.

We hear it again, but this time it’s closer and more horrific sounding. Cullen is quick to stand on his feet to check out the commotion with his sword in hand. Neria and I stare at each other with concern, and we follow Cullen outside the hallway.

The screams come from a terrified elder mage. He summons fireballs and throws them rapidly behind him, one after other in panic. The mage trips on his heels when taking a step back. He trembles in fear at the sight before him. From around the corner, a dreadful creature drags is feet after the mage. It’s large muscle-mass mutant with sickly grey skin. Its skin is wrinkled and mashed together oddly, reminding me of a giant deformed raisin. Its hunched back is covered in clay-colored spikes, and it wears a ghastly, ankle length skirt.

Its long lanky arms, and dreadfully longer finger nails, reach out to capture the frighten man.

“An abomination?!” Cullen declares as he ready his sword.

Neria stand in front of me protectively. “Someone not pass their Harrowing?”

“No…” I mumble. It’s much worse. It’s Uldred. He began his invasion in overtaking the tower.

The mage struggles to get out of the monstrous creature’s grasp. It lifts him off the ground with ease, as if the man weighed the same as a small child. The nails dig into the man’s body. The screaming pain carries loudly my ears rings. Cullen charges at them without hesitation, and the point of his sword stabs the side of the abomination’s torso cleanly. The pain distracts it long enough to drop the victim and bend forward. The head is in reach that Cullen takes another swing to decapitate it. The head rolls a small distance away.

The abomination falls on its knees, and it body erupts into flames.

“Cullen!” Neria warns. She summons a white glow and abruptly points her hands in his direction. A transparent shield is formed just in time to protect him from the self-destruct explosion.

I thought it was just a game mechanic, but abominations really do explode like voltorbs!

The heatwave expands, and our skin makes contact with the warmth. Sweat immediately begins to form on the back of my neck and forehead. With the temperature change, I feel like I’m standing in a desert rather than a stone tower.

Neria’s breathing becomes heavy. “That was too close.”

“Yeah,” I agree, swallowing saliva down my dry throat.

My eyes wander to the bodies on the floor, burnt bodies. The blond Templar recovers, but shortly gets in a defensive stance. He bends his knees and his eyes are locked on what’s in front of him. Unfortunately, that thing had friends. From the corner appear two more abominations, walking at a zombie’s pace in Cullen’s direction. He has become their next target. This just confirms my suspicions that the tower is under attack.

Cullen shouts, “Neria, go! I’ll provide cover!”

The elf shakes her head. “I am not leaving—”

“GO!” Cullen barks his order.

Something on the wall catches his eye: A shield bearing a Templar’s symbol. He climbs onto a nearby statue to get to it. Cullen yanks the ornaments off the wall and quickly jumps down before he can lose his balance. He lands on one knee, but pulls himself up to get into a defensive stance.

Neria bites back her words. I can see the dent in her cheeks. She turns on her heel and grabs my wrist. “Come on!” She drags me away. We make a break for it, running down the halls at top speed. Neria curses under her breath, “He better not die. Or so help me, Maker…”

I’m not too sure where we’re running to. The screams follow us at every turn we make, and every staircase we take. There is no escaping the devastating sound no matter where we go. She makes no attempt to stop and help. What about the people? Where are we going?

“Neria…?!” I’m too out of breath to say more.

As if reading my mind, she answers, “We’re heading to the first floor. Irving told me should an outbreak ever occur to go and protect the small nuggets!”

Nuggets?

Did she mean children?

“The sooner I can ensure those kids are safe, the sooner I can find my mentor and we figure out this blighted mess!” She explains and then adds on, “And you’ll be safe there.”

I’d forgotten that abominations weren’t our only concern. Dark color vapor rise from the stone floors as we run by. Curiosity makes me peek over my shoulder, and from the vapor spout bulky, nebulous beings. These demons have hunched backs and long lanky arms. They are faceless and have extended necks. Glowing purple lines trail up their arms like veins. Where the eye sockets should be, they each have one glowing eye.

Shades, I recognize.

“Damn demons!” Neria curses. One forms in middle the hall. She summons a similar white light from before and fires bolts from her hand. The shade is vanquished; it leaves behind black smoke in its wake.

It gets harder to breathe the longer we run. My breathing exercises are becoming difficult to practice when it feels my throat is closing up.

“Neria!” A dark hair mage calls out. He has children with him, terrified of what’s going on. I count five, and one of them clings to his arm. The poor darlings can’t be older than ten.

The elf runs to meet up with him. “Kinnon!” She scans each child. “This is everyone?”

“Yes, they’re all accounted for.”

“Then quickly, take them to the antechamber.” Neria points in the direction ahead of us. “We can use the entryway to our advantage. Go now!” She turns to me. “Stay with Kinnon.”

Neria stays behind us as we make our way to the destination. It is a large and familiar room, with two entryways. The second must be lead to grand entrance hall of the tower. Actually, make it three entryways. There is short stair case leading down. If I’m in the room I’m thinking of, those stairs lead to the dungeons of the tower, and the phylactery chamber. The chamber that keeps blood samples of apprentice mages. In case any mage escapes the Circle, Templars can use the phylactery as a dowsing rod to track them down.

Two shades follow us into the room. Kinnon and Neria cast their arcane bolts and shoot at them. I stand on the other side of the room, far away from the fight, with the children. Tears are streaming down their faces. They’re scared, and I don’t blame them.

It’s just two mages defending a room, but how long can they keep it up? Their mana will run out eventually, and hand to hand combat is not exactly the best when facing demons. If only I had my crossbow—

That’s it!

“I’ll be right back,” I stumble on my words when speaking to the little ones. “I’m going to get help.” I meant to say ‘crossbow,’ but I dash my way to the grand entrance before children protest. It turns my stomach to leave them.

I run out of the room and down a hallway. My tired legs ache, but force myself to push through. I hope the double metal doors at the end of the hall lead into the grand entrance. It takes all of my upper body to push open the doors. The quartermaster and a few Templars on duty turn in my direction as I try to regain my breath. The quartermaster is the first one to speak.

“What in the Void—”

“Where’s my crossbow?!” I shout at him.

He takes too long to answer, so I repeat myself as I quickly pace towards him, “Tower. Under attack. Where is my crossbow?”

“Under attack?” A Templar peeps.

“Yes! Demons!” I shout again. This alarms the Templars and they enter through the double doors with haste. The quartermaster beckons me to follow him. The storage room, full of weapons and armor, is tuck into a corner. He takes the cross off the highest shelf, along with a quiver of bolts. I grab the quiver first, and place it on my back, and then my weapon.

“Thank you,” I mumble and make my exit.

Now all I need is to get back to—

My thoughts are cut off when I see the sight of Greagior with a company of Templars shutting the doors behind them, and begin blockading with heavy looking iron bars.

"Lock this door! No one goes in or out!” The Knight-Commander barks.

“Wait! No!” I rush to the doors, and plead to Greagior. “I need to get back in there.”

The senior Templar is surprised when he hears a squeaky voice not belonging to any of his men. His gaze immediately turns downward at me when I appear by his side. “Ellen?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “How did you—”

“You have to let me through!”

It takes a moment to realize what I’m asking. “Absolutely not!” He objects. The Knight-Commander turns his attention back towards his men. “I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.” The Templars salute.

“We get will get a rotation going immediately. Badrick and Kelton, take first watch!”

Greagior stares longingly at the door. “I need to send word to the Chantry in Denerim.”  The words twist his expression has if he ate something bitter. “Invoking the Right of Annulment…is our only hope of saving this Circle.”

The Right of Annulment? Wait… isn’t that?!

“You can’t be serious?!” I raise my voice at him, “You can’t kill every mage in there!”

I shouldn’t be surprised by his course of actions, after all it happens in the game, but… to actually hear it in person and witness this ordeal. There are those still fighting, and they’re at the mercy of demons and abominations. Slaughtering mages is not a way to save them.

I can’t help but think of Neria and the children, and the Templars raising their swords against them. My chest begins to tighten at the thought.

“The tower is taken over by demons,” He says angrily, “The mages are either dead or have turned into abominations. There are no other choices left.”

Geragior reaches out to one of his recruits. “Carroll!”

“Y-Yes ser?” A young Templar, with a droopy face and blonde hair appears in front of his commander.

“Get on the boat, and cross the river. Tell Kester you will be confiscating his ferry. We will not allow access to anyone until we get this under control.”

“And take the girl with you,” the Knight-Commander adds.

“WHAT?!” I screech.

“Ser?”

“She’s a civilian,” He explains, “Tell Kester to look after her. I’ll reward him for his trouble in doing so.”

I shake my head. “You can’t be serious?!”

“You are not safe here, Ellen.” It’s not up for debate. The man shoves me in Carroll’s direction. The young Templar catches me before I lose my balance. Geragior glares. “Make sure she gets across the river, and that she can’t get back. Keep a close eye on her.”

“Yes ser!” Carroll takes me by the arm and escorts me out of the tower. I’m not happy how he’s handling me, and struggle to get out of grasp. At no point does he lighten his grip, and this gets me more upset by cussing him out. He groans, and complains about the extra work I’m creating for him. “Come on now, and stop struggling!”

We reach the docks outside the tower. A ferry man welcomes us as we approach him, “Greetings.”

“Greetings, Kester.” Carroll finally lets me go, but gives me a hard push toward the end of the dock where the boat rest. “We need to get across and quickly.” I turn to glare at him, and in return he motions his hand. “Well, in you go.”

“That’s no way to treat a lady.” Kester is an older gentleman wearing a leather vest and yellow picnic-table pattern tunic underneath.

Carroll grumbles, “She certainly doesn’t act like one.”

The ferry man steps down to get into the boat, and offers his hand to aid me getting on. I mumble my small gratitude and step onto the unstable boat. Carroll rocks the boat faster when he jumps down from the dock. I curse as I steady my wobbling knees. That idiot could’ve tipped the boat over!

“Easy there lad,” Kester scolds him, “Old Lucy isn’t what she use to be.”

The Templar rolls his eyes and unties the rope from the docking post.

It takes about an hour to cross the lake. I have the urge to touch the water throughout the ride, but Kester advice strongly against doing so. He explain to me mages dump their potion waste into the water, among other things. The moment we dock, Carroll confiscates the boat on Greagior’s orders, and informs him that the Knight-Commander will reward for him taking care of me.

“For how long?” Kester asks.

Carroll’s reply is a shrug. He refuses to say anything else after.

“It is late.” Kester sighs. I take notice of the sun almost setting down completely. The sky is darkening and the stars are barely coming out. He places a hand on my shoulder to get my attention. “I will do as Greagior asked, and offer you a place to stay for the time being.”

Kester lives in a small cabin west of the lake and the inn with a petite, plump wife. She’s cutting potatoes when I’m introduced to her. Although Kester and his kind wife try their hardest to make me feel right at home, my first night staying in the ferryman’s house is rough. I had little to eat and little sleep as the stresses about the tower overwhelm me. When morning comes, I lose my sight.

I lounge in bed until the sun rises high in the sky. I would have slept longer, but my stomach begins to growl.

I end up visiting the lake after I eat. Kester’s wife thought it would be best if I get some fresh air to help lighten my mood. I keep my distance from the docks where Carroll stationed himself. The Knight-Commander was clear on his instructions.

I doubt Carroll would speak a word to me, let along convince that Templar to take me back across. The thought makes me spend the rest of my day, sitting on patch of grass and glaring at him. I practiced my penmanship in the dirt when glaring got boring for me. I wrote down letters I remembered with no reference.

When day three rolls around, the stress eats my patience away to the point my stomach aches. Anxiety motivates my desire to get back to the tower. Screw good morals, and screw following rules.  I am going to steal that damn boat!

Kester and his wife are surprised to see me at breakfast, but enjoy my company. I finish my meal in a hurry. Before I make it out the door, the wife calls out to me. She gives me a pale brown tunic of hers, saying the one I’m wearing has holes in it. Along the hem with rip holes of all size, it’s a wonder how I haven’t noticed. After a quick change, I set course to the docks. Carroll is surprised to see me.

“Damn Carroll, I have had it!” I rage.

“You’re not getting across,” Carroll threatens.

“Like hell you’re going to stop—”

Carroll’s focus is no longer on me, but behind me. “And you!” The Templar points a finger at whoever stands behind me. “I hope you’re not looking to get across the tower. Because I have strict orders not to let anyone pass.”

I turn on my heels to see who the Templar is talking to. A familiar figure comes into view, wearing a distinctive blue brigandine, and accompanied by four people and a large war hound. The wood underneath us creek when they approach us.

“Daylen?”

“Ellen?” He’s sounds as confused as I am. The last we saw each other was on the bridge at Ostagar just as the battle began.

I can hear the sarcasm from Carroll. “Wonderful, you two know each other. Have your reunion someplace else.”

Daylen recovers from shock. He returns his gaze to the Templar, not at all deterred by his rude attitude. “I understand you have your orders, but I once lived here—”

“No one gets to the tower.” Carroll shakes his head, “No one! The tower is off-limits to all!” He points a finger towards me. “Especially you! You’re not getting back into the tower.”

I glare at him. Annoying son of a—

Daylen tries to pursue the conversation farther, but Carroll cuts him off, “No entrance to the tower. I don’t know how many times I need to repeat myself.”

My mage friend pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is…” He lets out a desperate sigh, “Is it possible to work out an arrangement?” Daylen place his hands on his hips.

“Arrangement?” This catches Carroll’s attention. He eyes one of the companions over Daylen’s shoulder. “That dark-eyed temptress over there… surely the tower would be far too dull for her.”

The woman that Carroll mentions is in the back of the group. I can’t see her clearly, but I recall what she looks like.

Morrigan is the daughter of the legendary Witch of the Wilds. A raven haired sorceress with amber eyes shrouded in dark purple eye shadow. Her hair is tied high in a small messy bun, and her side bangs are cut short and thin out when framing her face. Morrigan wears a ragged outfit that leaves little to the imagination. She wears nothing under her loosely fitting top, as it shows off the valley of her pale breasts and stomach. Worn and torn black colored pants with dark-colored knee high leather boots. She has a leather pelt with a number of belts tied to her waist. Lastly, she’s covered in jewelry but not the gold kind I was expecting. Around her neck and wrist are feathers, bones, and teeth held together with hemp.

Still…I’m in love with Morrigan’s outfit.

“Oh?” Morrigan sounds interested, or at least pretends to be.

“Because it gets little lonely out here sometimes, and she wouldn’t make for good company.” Carroll insults. He gestures in my direction. My rage rises like a bubble. I want nothing more than to push him off the dock. “…and so… going without a woman’s touch. The temptress could, possibly, ease the ache, and stay here with me—”

Is he… suggesting—?

I can hear Alistair behind me mumbling about wanting to vomit, and I can hardly blame him.

“An excellent proposal,” She exclaims her excitement. I imagine a smirk on her face. “I have been hoping for new prey.”

“Prey?” Carroll’s enthusiasm dies down. I bite back a smile when I see him squirm under Morrigan’s gaze.

“Morrigan, please don’t do—”

“’Twill take but a moment.” She halts Daylen mid-sentence as she joins him by his side. “Perhaps you should go aboard the vessel to prepare while we are away. Morrigan eyes roam her eyes top to bottom on Carroll’s figure. “We must row ourselves across. I fear the lad will no longer have use of his limbs… or his eyes, once I am done with him.”

His face begins to drain its colors. Terror is shown on his face, Carroll quivers, “Er… maybe I should—”

“Wonderful!” Clearly enjoying this, she smirk grows. “I can sense his terror! Oh, that will make the loving all the sweeter.”

Carroll switches his attention back to Daylen and rapidly spouts, “You said you wanted to get across? Maybe we should go now, right now.”

Morrigan isn’t done toying with the Templar just yet. She sways her hips as she walks toward him, slowly.

Carroll backs away with every step she takes. He scrambles getting into the boat, “NOW!”

She chuckles, and honestly I found the entire exchange humorous as well. I can’t hold back my smile anymore. My cheeks hurt from how wide it is.

Alistair is the first to climb into the rowboat. Carroll rolls his eyes when Alistair extends his hand to assist me. I smirk victoriously in Carroll’s direction before accepting the Alistair’s offer.

Carroll is last to get onto the boat. With so many people, the Templar needed extra help rowing us across. At Daylen’s discretion, he has his large muscular comrade aid Carroll. I don’t need an introduction to know who he is.

Sten of Beresaad, a Qunari on a mission to find out what the Blight was for his people. Seven feet tall, than man is a giant compare to me. I’m surprise that Daylen is able to find heavy armor fit for his large mass muscles. Tan skin, small red eyes, and a stone cold stoic expression. His squared shaped jaw and his large hooked nose are his most noticeable features. Sten’s hair is naturally white and braided in tight crowns. This is something I don’t remember him having in the game, but he has a scruffy chin beard.

Daylen sits across from me. There are some minor cuts on his face, two small ones under his left eye and a large slash across his forehead. But, they are already in the scabbing process. He begins the first conversation of our long boat ride.

“It is good to see you alive and well.”

Leliana is next to him. We share a smile before I answer, “I can say the same about you.” I glimpse in Alistair’s direction. “And you too, Alistair. I’m glad you’re okay.” ‘Okay’ may not be the best word to use. The handsome man doesn’t look physically fine. Heavy black bags are under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days. Like Daylen, he acquired some wounds on his face. His bottom lip has another cut, and a large gash on the side of his right temple.

Despite his miserable state, Alistair flashes a smile.

“The Maker truly does work in mysterious ways to bring us together.” Leliana giggles. “And to know one other.”

Leliana, the sister who helped me back in Lothering, traded in her chantry robes for studded medium taupe leather armor. The only thing bare skin showing is her neck and collar bone. A short bow and arrows on her back, and two small daggers that I can see strap to each side of her hip.

As intimating as her outfit appears, her tone is sweet as ever.

Daylen takes notice in our stare exchange. “You’re acquainted with each other?”

“Wynne and I fled from Ostagar when we noticed that Loghain’s men weren’t coming. We met up with a couple of other survivors and all of us ran to Lothering. Wynne and I spent the night at the Chantry,” I explain, “Leliana was kind enough to get us settled.”

Morrigan is having a conversation with the Qunari warrior behind Daylen and Leliana. Carroll is too afraid to look at the sorceress, let alone talk to her. Sten isn’t very interested in whatever topic is being discussed from how little he speaks.

“Oof!” Daylen hunches forward, his mabari companion tries to climb on the mage’s back. The dog stands on his hind legs, and rests his large paws on his master’s shoulders. Clearing wanting attention, he licks Daylen’s cheeks. He chuckles and tries to shove his friend down. “Get down Barkspawn, down boy!”

The war hound nudges his head between Daylen and Leliana. She didn’t seem to mind, and Daylen finds amusement in his behavior and pats him on the head. That’s exactly something Max, my beagle, would’ve done. He’s always pulling whatever stunts he can to be the center of attention. My family would call it ‘beagling.’ That’s exactly what this mabari is doing.

“Barkspawn?” Making sure I heard the name correctly.

“Yes, this is Barkspawn. We found him on our travels to Lothering… more or less.”

My smile immediately drops. Who names in their right MIND would give this poor dog a pun name? I shortly discover the culprit when I hear a chuckle coming from Alistair. Of course it would be him.

In the corner of my eye, I notice a mark on his hand. A burst shape wound that almost cover his entire hand.

“That looks like that hurt,” I comment.

“Oh?” Daylen sees me starting at his hand. He stops petting Barkspawn in that moment to observe it. “Yes…” He cradles it. “A reminder what Alistair and I were up against in the Tower of Ishal…we were saved by Flemeth, Morrgain’s mother. I was told she turn herself into a dragon and lift us from the tower after we were overwhelmed by the darkspawn—”

So that was Flemeth I saw on the Tower Ishal that night.

“—she tended to our wounds. Explained to us that this is truly a Blight we’re facing,” Daylen elaborates and then withdraws shortly after mumbling, “It’s as Duncan feared.”

“I’m… sorry about Duncan.” Mentioning the Warden-Commander, I notice Alistair lowering his head. Awkwardly, I pat him on the arm. I wanted to comfort him with a hug or grab his hand to show him my sympathy, but I remind myself that we barely know each other. “I overheard some soldiers talking about it when we were on the run. That he was—”

“Yes.” Daylen stops me before I can continue. He nods, “Thank you… he was a fine warrior.”

Alistair mumbles under his breath, “The best man…”

Daylen bring a question to my attention, “Ellen, would you perhaps know the condition the Circle is in?” He frowns. “We were traveling here beforehand, but we rush when I heard disturbing rumors a few days ago that the Circle had fallen to demons.”

I bite my lips. “Yeah… yeah it did, and it’s pretty bad.” I remember the horrible night, “Abominations too. They were everywhere.”

“And it’s all Uldred’s fault. The bastard’s off his damn rocker!” I rant without thinking, “Everything is his fault.”  I recall everything I remember from the game “Got pissy when he didn’t get his way and started summoning demons and turning mages into abominations!” I let out a frustrated sigh, “I was in the libraries on the third floor. Neria, Cullen, and I heard a scream and—”

“Neria?” From his surprise tone, Daylen recognize the name. “You know her?”

It dawns on me. “Right. You’re her best friend. She mentioned that…” Though she hadn’t said names, I knew Neria was referring to Daylen. Who else was recruited to being a Grey Warden from the tower?

“Is she well?” He is on the edge on his seat.

“Last I saw her.” I nod. “She helped me get to the first floor, fought off any demon that chased after us. Her priority was getting to the kids, and we did. However, she couldn’t hold off the demons forever without help. So, I went to get my crossbow from the quartermaster.” My hand forms a fist from the built up anger. “But the Knight-Commander shut the doors to the tower, and wouldn’t let anyone back in without his consent. And then the bastard kicked me out!”

“For your own protection!” A voice pipes into my dramatic story telling.

“No one asked you, Carroll!” I glare.

“You were denied access to the tower?” Daylen ask for details, “Why?”

I roll my eyes and quote the Knight-Commander, “Because I’m a civilian.” I receive a questionable glance from Daylen, and it’s making me uncomfortable, “What?”

“You’re not a mage?”

“What? No.” I shake my head. “What gave you the idea I was one?”

“I thought perhaps you were a chantry sister… an oddly dressed one,” He begins listing off, “But then you accompanied Wynne around Ostagar, even on the battlefield. You said yourself that you were in the libraries when the attack on the Circle occurred and…” Daylen stops himself, “You are a perplexing induvial.” Leliana and Alistair have been quiet throughout the conversation.

I raise an eyebrow. “No, I’m not?”

The discussion is over once Carroll docks the boat to shore. We don’t waste any time climbing the steps to the entryway and make our way inside. The grand entrance is in utter chaos when we arrive. More Templars are stationed near the large metal doors leading into the tower, with swords in hand. However, I count more bodies lying about on the ground. I’m truly hoping that they are resting, and not dead. I’m not the only one who observed this.

“True to your word,” Alistair says with concern, “The doors are barred. Locking the door and throwing away the key was usually 'plan B'.”

The Knight-Commander breaks away from his Templars he was briefing to approach us. I stand behind Alistair so that Greagior doesn’t notice my presence right away. I don’t exactly know what his reaction will be, and I’m not interested in finding out now.

 “Greagior,” Daylen greets nervously, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Well look who’s back.” Knight-Commander crosses his arms over his puffed out chest. “A proper Grey Warden now, are we? Glad you’re not dead.”

Duncan wasn’t joking when he said Greagior was bitter about Daylen’s recruitment.

“You’re looking well…” Daylen takes no offense to the rudeness. “Perhaps a bit... harried?”

“Perhaps,” He snarls, “We are dealing with a situation that doesn’t involve you, _Grey Warden,_ ” He emphasizes on Daylen’s title. A reminder he is no longer a residence of the Kinloch Hold.

“Grey Warden or not, I wish to lend my aid.” Daylen doesn’t back down, “Greagior, I know the Circle is in danger—”

“It is too late to accept your help.”

“That can’t be true,” Daylen pleads. “This must be something I can do.”

The Knight-Commander’s patient runs thin, if it hasn’t already. “I shall speak plainly.” He gestures his hand towards the direction of the doors, “The Tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls.”

Sten grunts, “This is why on Par Vollen we sew our mages' mouths shut and cut out their tongues.”

A chill crawls up my spine.

“I'm inclined to agree with your friend. After all, the Qunari would never have found themselves in this situation." Greagior lowers his head in guilt. “We were too complacent. First Jowan, now this…” He glares at Daylen, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your role in Jowan’s escape.”

The Knight-Commander waves his hand, as to dismiss the mage, “Now leave, there is nothing you can do. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and for Right of Annulment.”

“No…” Daylen’s heart is split into two, “You’re going… to annihilate the entire tower?!”

“Daylen… the mages are probably already dead,” Alistair explains, “Any abominations remaining in there must be dealt with no matter what.” Not exactly the comfort and support needed calm his colleague down.

“We—They,” Daylen corrects himself, “They were taught to protect themselves and resist any temptation.” His attention is back on the Knight-Commander. “Was that not the purpose of the Harrowing?”

“Most are apprentices who have yet to take it, or have you forgotten already our principles? Perhaps you have. During the Harrowing, the demons never leave the Fade.”

“The mages are not defenseless. Some must still live!” Daylen argues.

“This situation is dire. There is no alternative—everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.” There is no emotion behind Greagior’s words, as if it was rehearsed. “If any are still alive, the Maker Himself has shielded them… and even then. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find… nothing.”

Daylen isn’t stepping down. The mage I know to be skittish and nervous against confrontation is being stubborn and free-spoken about his thoughts.

He insists, demands more like, an answer to his question. “When did you send word to Denerim?”

Knight-Commander has officially lost his patience. “Have you not been listening to a single word I’ve said—”

“Three days ago!” I speak up. This argument is not getting us anywhere, “He sent the damn thing three days go.”

I immediately regret my outburst as Greagior’s anger is now aimed towards me. “Ellen? Why are you back here?! I’ve told you it’s not safe here.” He curses, “Maker’s breath! Carroll, that boy! He had one simple task.”

“Is what she said true?”

Greagior’s glare returns to Daylen, before he breaks eye contact with a frustrated sigh. “Yes, but I have to hear back. The delayed response is a cause to worry.” He can only shake his head. “Since Loghain declared himself regent, no doubt it caused much turmoil. The Chantry might be caught up in it. I can only guess.

“Regardless, Denerim must have received our message—it cannot be much longer to send us reinforcements. We can hold out then.” He waves with the back of his hand, convincing us he’s done with this discussion. “Leave, Grey Warden.”

“I will not.” Daylen continues to but heads. His serious tone becomes deeper, “Not while I still have a chance to do the right thing. I must try.”

Stubborn, free-spoken, and heroic? Who is this man?

Silence lingers, but the kind when someone is debating on a decision. Geragior exhales a tiring breath through his nose. “I seem to have a habit of making regrettable decisions.” He yells to his Templars stationed near the doors. “They have my consent to enter! Let them when they wish!”

“Thank you, Greagior.” Daylen smiles.

Finally, we have the Knight-Commander’s permission. I share a relieving smile with Leliana and Alistair. If Morrigan and Sten were annoyed with the entire bicker exchange, they were hiding it well. Both appear uninterested in the ordeal.

“Do not thank me.” Greagior raise his hand to a halt. “A word of caution… once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe.”

“What proof do you need?”

“I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen… then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed.”

Daylen is glue to Greagior’s side as the senior Templar escorts us to the door. “Where was Irving last seen?”

“From my understanding he was on the third floor in the senior enchanter board room.” The Knight-Commander answers.

Wynne mentioned that Irving and a few other enchanters with going to have a meeting with Uldred. But if I remember the game correctly, Irving is in Harrowing Chamber with abominations for company. According to Cullen, that’s the room at the top of the tower.

Suddenly, I don’t know what will be worse: stairs or demons.

Daylen confirms the information with a nod. Greagior waves his hand in dismissal towards the Templars standing guard.  They swiftly move away from the door on his command. Daylen, Sten, and Alistair remove the iron bar from the metallic handles, and set it on the ground in front of them. He grabs hold of each ring of the handles and push. As they open, the rustic hinges on the door squeak. The ominous sound travels down the hall.

One at a time, Daylen’s companions trail behind him. I am the last to follow through, but a hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks.

“You’re not planning on accompany them?”

I haste to turn around to face Greagior. “Yes?”

“No!” He strides in front me to block my way. I’m surprised by how quickly he moved. “You are a civilian! You will die if you go inside the tower.”

I frown as I realize he brings up a point. It’ll be like Ostagar all over again. I’d be running for life and trying to be using a weapon I barely know how to use in a fight. Demons and abominations are just as deadly as darkspawn.

This isn’t a video game, I remind myself.

If I die, I can’t just reload and start anew. It will be permeant, and the thought is unsettling.

But my mind wonders to Wynne, to Neria, and the children. I feel as though I abandoned them. The memory stirs a swelling guilt inside me. By now, Wynne is protecting children with a ward, and has been for days without rest. The woman hasn’t had time to recover from our pervious journey. Neria wasn’t in the best of shape fighting off the demons, even with help. Cullen was left to deal with two abominations.

Oh fuck, Cullen!

I’ve completely forgotten that he gets taken prisoner, along with a few other Templars, and placed in one of Uldred’s complicated barrier spells. He’s being tortured by demons and blood mages, possibly as we speak.

Too many people are suffering and the idea of waiting around until it’s over knots my anxiety so tight I can hardly breathe. I’m able to do something, I know I can…

“She possesses some level of skill, Greagior.” Daylen intervenes, “She was at Ostagar, lending aid to the King’s army. She was on the bridge with Wynne and the archers at the start of battle."

“Daylen, she wasn’t at Ostagar to help! It was because she—”

“For a different reason!” I anxiously shout as step around the Knight-Commander. I avoid his gaze when doing so. “People are hurt, and there are demons that need hurting. We’re wasting time talking about this.” Impulsively I add, “I’m going.”

“I’m afraid she’s right. We need to take our leave,” Daylen agrees.

I reach to the edge of the door before I’m stopped by Greagior’s words again. “For your own good, Ellen, stay. The demons will be after you.”

The persistence from him begins to irritate me. I turn my head and snap, “They’ll be after anyone!”

“Your presence WILL attract demons, because of your origins. You’ll be putting yourself and those around you in danger.” He implores his stare. “Understand me?”

This catches my attention and it raises confusion in me, along with everyone else. I can feel their eyes glancing in my direction.

“If that’s really the case, do you want me here with your Templars? The men you’re trying to save?” I question.

In a stern tone, he makes one final attempt to get me to stay, “We are more qualified in protecting you.”

“Yeah?” I spit at him, “Well, so are they.”

I end the conversation by, finally, walking through the doors to join Daylen’s side.

Looking over my shoulder, I can see the Knight-Commander’s nostrils flaring out, and he shuts his eyes tightly as he turns away. His thin-lip frown doesn’t express his frustration, but rather regret.  His face twists with grief.

“Close the damn door.” Greagior shakes his head as he gives his command. “I’ve had enough dealing with this.”

The Knight-Commander turns his back to us, and the Templars obey his order to pull the doors shut. A sensation of doom looms around me. My anger and the impulsive decision of wanting to do what’s morally right may have indeed cost me my life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone, I hope ya'll had a good holiday! I definitely did.
> 
> I got to spend time with family I don't get to see often. My Tia knows how to cook a mean brisket! I was truly in heaven 3
> 
> She also found out about my little "hobby" and she asked if she could read this story. It's embarrassing to show my family and close friends what I do for fun. But eventually, I'd like to write a novel of my own and that this is a stepping stone. I have also hidden my writing, because of my fear of being rejected or being judged by people I see everyday. (Who isn't?)
> 
> Much like this chapter something snapped in me. I said "Fuck it," and said yes and I sent her a link to my story. Honestly, it felt pretty good.
> 
> I want to thank my roommate for beat reading, and putting up with my loaded crap. This chapter is her and also for my Tia and my sister. If any of ya'll are reading. I love you and because I love you, I'll be embarrassing both of you in the next chapter :)
> 
> Welcome to Dragon Age Hell!

We’re greeted by dead bodies, two belonging to mages, and the third a Templar.

The sight is unsettling and, the smell…god the smell. The decomposing bodies are unbearable. I lift my tunic to cover my nose. My natural unbathed body odor is strong, but not enough to mask the rotten flesh and poured out bladder fluids.

I’m squeamish overweight petite woman with practically no combat training experience. On top of that my vision is blurry enough to consider myself legally blind. I’m definitely going to be a liability.

“Let us proceed.” Daylen strides forth to lead of everyone. “We don’t have much time. Our goal is to find the First Enchanter.” It’s an announcement of his anxiousness rather than taking on a leadership role. His pitch his high, and he speaking rapidly. “Spirits are unpredictable where they lurk. Keep your guard up. I know the tower’s structure. This will give us an advantage, but not by much.”

No one objects, but he doesn’t give them a chance to voice it. Daylen already has his back turn and lead everyone down the hallways. I make my way up to the front, next to mage friend. He’s walking with sheer determination, and I’m finding myself in a struggle to keep up.

It’s not long until Alistair wanders to my side.

“So tell me…” He begins, “Is the Knight-Commander warning true? We’ll be attracting more demons with you around?” Alistair is the first brave soul to ask.

I frown. “I’m not too sure, honestly. I think he was just…saying stuff?”

I glance in Daylen’s direction. He seems to focus on what lies ahead, I’m not even sure he’s even listening.

Alistair hums, “Ah…he ominously mentioned your origins being the reasoning.” He pauses. “I’m wondering, where exactly are you from?”

I was afraid he would ask that. I shake my head. “That…uh…hard to explain, and right now not the best time to try.”

“Then Ostagar…?” He tails off, a hint that I finish his sentence. But when make no effort to do so, he fill in some of the blanks. “If you weren’t there to help the king—”

I answer quickly, in hope to get him off my case, “That…um, ties into the whole origin thing.”

Alistair mouths out the words “Oh.”

I nod stiffly, “Yeah…”

We walk in awkward silence until we stop by a doorway barricaded by furniture. Barkspawn sniffs, and then paws at the wood.

Both Alistair and Daylen try to bust blockage down, but their strength isn’t enough.

“Sten, if you please.” The Grey Warden mage steps aside for the Qunari.

Sten huffs and breaks down the door with a powerful kick. The wood gets smashed in, and he tackles the rest of broken furniture away for a clearing. Witnessing his terrifying strength makes me take a step back.

We enter a large room full of bunkbed, the layout is similar to summer camp cabin. However this is one summer I don’t want to attend. Blood decorate the walls and floor. Books and clothes scattered everywhere. Some of the beds and dresses have been flipped over from the chaotic struggle. Mattresses and pillows are torn in two. Spills of feathers litter the ground.

Morrigan scowls. “So the mages are all locked within this tower?” She rolls her eyes. “A fitting end for those who gave up their own freedom."

Leliana glares at the swamp witch. The person who should be feeling offended the most ignores her, though not on purpose. Daylen is distraught at the sight. He slowly approaches a bunk, and places his hand on the damaged bedpost.

“Among this wreckage, we might find wares that could be of use to us, Warden.” Morrigan suggests as she examines the room.

His response isn’t immediate. Daylen’s traumatize by the state of the room. Morrigan snaps at him using his title, and he’s forced to react. “It’s possible.” Daylen collects his thought. “I knew some that would hide their personals inside their mattress.” He addresses to his group, “We’ll start there. Spread out, and let’s not linger for too long.”

Given their orders, everyone walks their separate ways. I, on the other hand, stay by Daylen.

He doesn’t acknowledge me for a solid few minutes.

My mage friend returns his sad gaze towards the bunk. “This was once my bed…” His lifts his chin, and his eyes stare at the top bunk. “Jowan had the top.” He feels the need to explain to me who he was. “Jowan, the mage Greagoir mentioned. He…he was my best friend, besides Neria. In my younger days, Jowan and I would turn this bunk into a fortress of blankets.” Daylen’s fingers brushed against the wood of the top bunk. “Hid among them, eating sweet rolls we’ve snuck from the kitchen.”

“I find myself wishing to return to those days.” Daylen mumbles.

To return to a place you use to call home in shambles. I imagine this isn’t easy for him, but I have no comforting words to offer. Instead, I pat his forearm lightly.

His opposite hand lays it on top of mine. He musters a small smile and whispers, “Thank you.”

Daylen’s gaze meet with mine, but becomes distract with something behind me. There’s a hitch in his throat, and I follow his line of sight. Not too far from his bed, a bunk over, lies a body on the bottom mattress. It’s a woman with red hair and blue robes. Her hand dangles on the edge of the bed as well and her arms fan out above her. Her eyes rolled to the side.

“Cornelia…” He mumbles her name, utterly in shock.

Before I can I ask who she was to him, Leliana calls out to Daylen. Secretly grateful the corpse no longer has our attention.

“I found something!”

Daylen and I follow the bard’s voice to a back corner. She trips open the mattress with her dragger, and shows up the goods inside. The Grey Warden examines the bunkbed and knits his brows together.

“This is…Denri’s bunk?”

Leliana smirks. “Well, Denri has quite a stash tucked away.”

And she’s right. Inside the mattress are flasks with yellow, red, and blue glowing liquids. The blue no doubt is lyrium. However, I can’t make out the others? My only guess, and hope, they are potions that help with healing properties, like the regenerating stamina.

“So it seems,” Daylen processes the sight of the potion. A disapproving frown appear, but nods to his comrade. “Take them with us, and then we will leave. We’ve lingered long enough.” Hurt consumes his tone.

Leliana bobs her head, and takes the sack she carries off her back. She begins grabbing the flasks by their neck two at a time. In the meantime, Daylen rounds everyone up.

“You think he’s going to be okay?” I ask abruptly. I don’t why I’m even asking this. Looking for peace of mind, maybe? Or avoid the silence with a conversation.

“Eventually…” Leliana hums worriedly. “But that is difficult to tell when.”

I silently agree.

I notice most are empty handed when Leliana and I regroup with them.

Sten makes a comment how grand the dorms look before we exit the apprentice quarters. The

Circles are view as prisons for mages, so to consider this luxurious…

I remember Sten’s remark about sewing their mages mouths shut AFTER cutting their tongue out.

My knowledge of the Qun is very limited, and Sten isn’t exactly painting me a pretty picture of his religion…or his people.

We make our way down the hall, Barkspawn right at my heel.  He’s a very affectionate mabari. I pet him on head and scratch his ears. Petting a dog lowers your stress level. Fact. I stroke his fur any time my nerves begin to agitate me, which they seem to bother me every few minutes.

No demons have attacked us. I don’t know whether to count my blessings or tremble with worry.

At the end of the hallway is a pair of large undamaged doors. Daylen rattles the handles, pulling on them, but they won’t budge. It’s not a surprise they’re locked. The real mystery is how they remain so pristine. Leliana appears by his side to lend her assists.

“Allow me. I could do that for you.”

The bard gets on one knee to be at eye level with the lock. From her small pouch attach to her belt, she pulls out two mental tools. I watch her stick both objects into the keyhole. Leliana twists the thicker metal file while she moves the smaller thinner tool up and down. Soon, we hear the mechanics inside the lock unwinding. Click. Clank. The lock is picked effortless.

Leliana stand back on her feet. “It is done.” She allows Daylen to open the door.

We walk among a fighting scene. People are defending themselves from a molten lava demon. The children are crying and huddling together far from the vicious creature. Adult mages stand in between. A familiar white hair woman cast a glowing white light. The misty spell swirls around her, and directs it at the rage demon. It screeches and melts into the floor. No trace left behind.

When the danger is over, I race towards her. “Wynne!”

Her head turns. “Ellen? What—?”

I fling myself at her with a hug. “I’m so glad to see you!”

I receive a gentle pat on the back. “As am I, I’m glad to see you safe.” Wynne pulls away and rest her hands on my cheeks.  She notices the new people trailing behind me. The elder mages recognizes one of them.

“Daylen?” Wynne drops her hands to her side. “You’re alive.”

“Just as you are Wynne,” Daylen greets as he comes to join us, “It’s a relief to see that you have survived Ostagar.” The rest keep their distance, but close enough to be in hearing range.

Wynne scoff, “Only to return to another catastrophe.” She sighs. “As you can see the Circle is in grave danger. Though, this should be no concern to you. You’re a Grey Warden.” Wynne points out. “Why have you returned to the tower?”

“My initial visit was to recruit the mages of the Circle, for our fight against the Blight.” Daylen answers. “However, I heard rumors that Circle was overrun with demon. I came as quickly as I could.”

“I see you still care about the Circle and our tower.”

Daylen nods. “Yes. It may no longer my home, but I will always care.”

His sincerity brings Wynne’s lips to a smile. “As much as I’m grateful to see help, I’m curious to know why the Templars let you through.” She observes the newcomers. “I can’t imagine them opening the doors, unless they intend to attack us.”

“No.” The mage warden’s expression sours. “Not yet…Greagoir sent word for the Right of Annulment days before I arrived. He is waiting for approval.”

I can see Wynne’s expression grown with shock, and then a sad realization. “I fear he might have. Greagoir... he assumes we are all dead then, and that the Circle is beyond hope. They abandoned us to our fate.” She pauses briefly as she looks towards her fellow Circle mages.

“But even trapped as we are, we have survived. The barrier I erected over the door has made sure of it.”

As she mentions the barrier, I begin to notice the obvious signs of exhaustion.  Her pale skin is as white as a clean bed sheet. Dark circles under her eyes resemble bashed in bruises. Dear fuck she looked worse than she did at Ostagar, literally a walking corpse.

Wynne releases a tiring sigh. “If he has invoked the Right…we will not stand against them.” Silence falls, and it begins to worry me.

I call out to her in a whisper, “Wynne?”

Daylen is also disturbed by her grim words. “Reinforcements have yet to arrive.” He encourages hope with a small smile. “There is still time to confront Uld—”

“Even after what she said, you want us to rescues this preachy schoolmistress?” Morrigan objects as she strives to Daylen’s side. “And these pathetic excuses for mages?”  The dark witch shakes her head at the very thought. “They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them and I say let them have it.” Morrigan motions her hand.

“Have some compassion, Morrigan.” Leliana scolds from a distance. Morrigan shoots the bard a piercing glare.

Daylen sneers. “Have you no empathy for your kin?” –Morrigan shows no sign of remorse— “Perhaps it would be different if you were one of us—them.” He corrects himself in the end.

“Hmph,” Morrigan rolls her eyes. “If that were so, why, I am sure I would have flung myself from the top of this tower years ago. I will allow neither mind nor body be subjugated in such a dehumanizing fashion.”

“Now everyone has the same mindset as you do.”

“And that’s made abundantly clear.” Morrigan continues on, “Look at how they live, how you used to live. They are servants of the Chantry. They lack respect for themselves and their own power. Why should I respect them?”

Daylen’s nostrils flare slightly. His tone is cold. “All deserves respect in some form or fashion, even cruel people such as yourself.”

I shiver. Not from his unfamiliar demeanor, but the sudden drop in temperature of the room. I wrap my arms around me to bundle for warmth. Daylen mumbles an apology. What’s he sorry for?

Morrigan clicks her tongue. “Have it your way.” She walks away from the conversation and plants herself against the wall. The dark temptress crosses her arms and glares from a distance.

“As I was saying before,” Daylen returns his attention back on the senior mage. “Wynne, there is still time to confronting Uldred, however, not by much. The barrier needs to be taken down immediately.”

“You’re confidence…is refreshing,” Wynne hums. “Though you should make sure it does not blind you to your weaknesses.”

Daylen accepts with a simple head gesture. “I promise to not let it blind me.”

“I will see to it that you keep your word, as I’ll be accompanying you.”

I can hear a dissatisfied scoff coming from Morrigan.

“That is my condition.” Wynne briefly shoots a glare in her direction. “I am the one who put up the barrier, and I’m the only one that can dispel it.” She expounds to Daylen.

“You have no objects from me. I welcome your aid.”

“I also ask if we come across any survivors, we save them. We cannot eliminate all the demons and abominations, but together, we could lead them out. Once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable.”

Daylen agrees to Wynne’s terms. “He has shown that promise. Greagoir will only accept it so from Master Irving. No one else.”

Wynne smiles softly. “Then our path is laid out before us. We find Irving. If anyone can survivor this, it’s him.”

The Grey Warden turns to his companions. Alistair and Leliana are in agreement of Wynne joining them. Sten scoffs, but appears indifferent on decision. Morrigan remains silently as she voiced her opinion earlier. And by the way her frowning, it hasn’t changed in over a short time.

“If you are ready, let us go end this.” Wynne eagerly awaits.

Daylen raise a concern about the rest of the people in the room. “What of the children? Will they be safe here?” The children are still huddling together. Barkspawn, sometime during the conversation, wonder to them and comfort them. He encourages the kids to pet him by wagging his behind playfully.

“Perfectly,” Wynne answers. “Petra, Kinnon, and Ellen will watch over them. If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten the children.”

“Wait?” I find my voice. “Me?”

“Yes. You especially,” Wynne crosses her arms. “You’re not to venture any farther from here. You can hardly fight, crossbow or no. If by some miracle you gain experience of a combatant, it’s pointless if you don’t have your sight. The provisional spell I cast on your faded long ago.”

The information puts Daylen in a state of confusion. He shakes his head and his place his immediate attention on me. “You’re not able to see?”

“Um…well.” I shrug. “I’m not blind…not exactly. I just can’t see clearly. Things are a bit blurry. BUT—!” I bat my eyelashes to Wynne. “That can be easily fixed with another provision spell, and I’ll be fine.”

The elder woman begins to scold. “That is not a solution you can always rely on—”

“It’s temporary.” I remind her, “It’s something for now. You can’t expect me to protect them blind?”

A nerve has been struck because Wynne groans. “You bring up a fair point. For the sake of the children…” She places both hands on my cheeks, her thumbs rest on my each side of my temple. I can feel the familiar warm fuzzy sensations along my face. Within moments, I notice a change in my vision. Everyone’s faces are clear, and then some. I can see the wall behind Wynne’s shoulder in perfect detail. It’s across the room!

“Woah…” I adjust to the sight with rapid blinking.

“You notice the enhancement I provided. That should last for a few hours. Petra, Kinnon…”

Wynne calls out to mages in the room. “Look after the others. I will be back soon.”

The red-headed woman, Petra, frowns. “Wynne, are you sure you’re all right?” Her forehead crinkles with concern, “You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along?” One of the children race to be by Petra’s side and clings onto her arm.

“The other needs your protection more.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You got hurt?” Though, I can’t see the injuries I groan. “Damn it, you’re pushing yourself again! Let me come, I can—”

“I will be all right.” She assures us. “The two of you, stay here. Keep them safe and calm.”

Petra hesitates to agree. “I…of course, we will not fail.”

I frown, unhappy with Wynne’s decision, but I don’t persuade her in letting me tag along.

Wynne walks towards the barrier. Daylen and the rest follow. Alistair shrugs as we make eye contact. Leliana gently squeezes my shoulder for reassurance when she walks past me. Sten ignores me existence, as well as Morrigan. Barkspawn is relentless in leaving the children, but joins his master’s side.

“Daylen,” Petra catches up to him. “A word, before you go.”

He retreats his steps to talk to her. They speak in hush tone. Petra still wears a concern expression. Daylen comforts with a smile. More words are exchange, and soon his expression matches with her.

Wynne dispels the barrier with a wave of her hand. The translucent force around the doorway is engulfed in a white light, and soon it vanishes in brightness.

They proceed on, and I am once again I’m left in the company of strangers to take care of me. I settle myself the same wall Morrigan was brewing against. I sigh and stare at the door, and wait anxiously.  Time passes, hours it feels, before two kids approach me.

“You can back with help. You really did.” An elf mumbles. She has frizzy red curls, and bright eyes. She reminds me of a folklore Irish fairy.

“I…did?” I try to remember the last thing I said before bolting off. All I can recall is wanting to get to my crossbow.

“Thank you,” the other child says.

I notice they are shivering. A protective side of me kicks in, and I stand up from the ground. “Are you two cold?” I’ll never admit it out loud, but I have a weakness for children. I want nothing more than to coddle them and shelter them from hurt and worry, especially now.

The two girls nod and my lips perk in a lopsided smile. “Go back to everyone else and sit under a touch. That should help a little.”

I walk back with them, and they join the rest of their friends. Kinnon and Petra are chatting, trading qualms, in the middle of the children. The small ones don’t dare leave their sides. I notice a woman, distance from everyone, kneeling next to bench. Her hands are together in front of her, and her head low. Her lips are moving, as if praying.

I scan the room once more. I remember there should be another person here, a certain blonde elf.

“Kinnon,” I call out. “Where is Neria?”

The mage exchanges expressions with Petra before telling me “Neria, she went to go scavenge for food and other amenities.”

Fairy-looking girl answers. “She’s been gone since yesterday.”

Petra smooths out the child’s red curls, for comfort. “I’m afraid Farah is right. Neria insisted.” She frowns. “I’ve told Daylen to keep a look out for her. Hopefully it’s not too late.”

Neria…

If she went searching for food, she might have started with kitchen first. “Where the kitchen?”

“You can’t possibly think—”

“Yes, and I am.” I adjust the quiver on my back. “I’d appreciate if I got directions of the kitchen. Otherwise, it’ll take me forever to find it.”

Petra sighs. “Please, don’t venture beyond the kitchen.”

Kinnon gasps. “Petra, she can’t—”

His colleague has made her decision. She gives me brief instructions, and I express gratitude for it with a smile. I promise not to be gone for long, and take off. I follow the same direction Daylen and everyone else. With the eerie silence, and the blood smear all over the walls, I feel like I’m in a haunted house. At any moment, something will jump at me and BAM, I drop dead.

Anticipation is causing my heart to swell. I’m on the edge of a heart attack.

I should be fine, though. I have a crossbow and intuitive game knowledge. My nerd brain remembers which rooms have the enemy spawns. I can easily avoid them.

If…the enemies are where they are supposed to be.

And they won’t be, because this isn’t a game.

Oh, damn it Ellen, you are so SCREWED!

This tower is truly a maze. Most of these circular hallways look the same to me. If it weren’t for the unique blood smears patterns on the walls, I might have thought I was going around in circles.

With Petra’s instructions, I make it to the kitchen in a timely fashion. I peak my head in first before I enter. It’s empty. This means one of two things. Dalen and everyone else have been through here and the demons are dead in this area. Choice number two: the demons are hiding and waiting for their next victim. I pray for the first option.

Unfortunately, I don’t pray hard enough. A groan reverberates from the corner of the room. The tables and chairs begin to stir. I almost piss myself. I prevent myself from screaming by covering my mouth my hand. I retreat my back against the stone wall. Quickly, duck behind a large black cauldron near me. Tables and chairs move again. My heart is on the verge of bursting through my chest.

The groan echoes again, but louder. It…doesn’t seem anything that would come from a demon or an abomination. It’s too high pitch…very feminine sounding?

Peeking from my hiding spot, I locate the groan. Among the flipped tables and chairs, I see a figure propping against a fallen table. They’re wearing familiar green robes, and their hair color is light, blonde in fact.

“Neria?!” I rush to get back on my feet. Her response is a painful grunt. I jog towards her and kneel down to her side.

“What—” She flinches. Her voice is raspy. “What are you doing here?”

I roll my eyes. “For every nickel I hear that question—”

“A what?” Neria asks breathlessly.

Clearly the joke goes over her head. “Don’t worry about it.” I deter from the subject. “What’s wrong?” I examine her body, and notice that she’s touching her right calf with one hand.

“It’s my leg.” Neria scrunches her bottom hem up to her knee. She reveals her to me her burnt wound. “I was careless and got burned by abomination. I stumbled." –The elf shows me her left arm ruck close to her body— “And landed on my forearm oddly. I think it might be sprained. It’s too painful to move my arm.”

I hiss at the description.

“I would heal myself, but I’m too exhausted to cast any spells.” The elf scoffs, “Not that I would make an attempt if I did have the energy. Healing magic isn’t my specialty. I might make it worse.”

I swing my crossbow and quiver to the front of my body, and turn my back towards her. “Hop on. I’m going to take you back to the kids and everyone else.”

“And risk for demons to take us both?” Neria shakes her head. “No.”

“Hey, I got this far without running into trouble.”

After a little more convincing, she takes hold of my shoulder. She balances her weight, by wrapping her arms around my neck tightly. Neria nearly chokes me when I lift her off the ground.

It’s a small discomfort to pay. I tuck my hand under her thighs to get her situated on my back.

She hisses in pain. I whisper an apology.

“I’m fine.” She grumbles.

The back end of the bolts pokes my cheek as I walk. Neria navigates my path back to the antechamber.

“Where have you been…? You were gone when Kinnon and I—” She trails off, as she suppress another groan. She mumbles the word ‘demon’ at the end.

I peak over my shoulder, but I can’t get a good view of her face. “I went to get my crossbow to help. I left it with the quartermaster, but Greagior shut the doors. I couldn’t convince him to let me back in.”

“You were obviously successful, even if it took you a few days. The man can be stubborn, but give him enough reason and he’ll crack. That’s what Master Irving told me.”

“Oh, he’s stubborn alright,” I chuckle. “But it wasn’t me who convinced him.”

She pauses. “Then who—”

Once the entry is within sight, Neria’s body comes stiff and her breathing sharpens. “What happened to the barrier?”

“Everyone’s fine.” I comfort her. “The barrier isn’t there because Wynne went off to help a Grey Warden making the Circle safe. He’s a friend of yours by the way.”

“Daylen?” Neria squeaks. “He’s _here_?!”

I couldn’t enlighten her more on his arrive. The moment we step into the antechamber, we are swarmed with children. My ears hear sighs of relief all around.

“Thank the Maker!” Petra joins us. She helps Neria off my back. “You’re both alive.”

Petra and I assist Neria to a nearby bench and takes a look at her injuries. The kids surround the elven mage. They proclaim their happiness with smiles and hugs. She was missed deeply.

“Yes, yes, I happy to see you nuggets too.” Neria gently brushes them off so that Petra can finish her examination. “Is it true? Is Daylen here?”

“He is.” Kinnon answers. “He, Wynne, and a few others went farther in the tower to confront Uldred. Also, search for any survivors.”

“Heal me, I’m going after them.” Neria ask her colleagues.

Kinnon and Petra both agree she won’t be. Even with their combine magic, it will be a process to heal her wounds. She won’t be going anywhere any time soon.

Neria sighs, “Fine, then you, you have a crossbow.” She gesture her figure at me and then to the doorway. “When you leave, make a right. It will curve, but keep following right until you find yourself a library. The stairs will be in a study room on your left.

“Wynne wishes for her to say behind to help with the children.” Petra informs.

Neria assures, “We’re more than enough.”

The room falls into a silence as Neria stares down her friends stubbornly. Minutes seem to pass before she speaks up.

“You’re capable.” The elf says to me with confidence. “You found me with no trouble.”

“Well…that’s true. I can honestly say Wynne probably expecting me. I don’t listen well, and wouldn’t want to disappoint her…being disappointed in me.” I get a chuckle out of Neria. After a short around of “Goodbyes” and “Be careful,” I’m off.

I dash out of the room while I adjust my crossbow and quiver properly behind my back. Following Neria’s directions leads me to a familiar grand library. Bookshelves are high enough to reach the ceiling, filled books and scrolls. I am met with a long table with piles of books, open scrolls, and candle sticks on it as a scattered mess. Actually, the library itself is a mess. Not one chair is standing, and books have fallen off their shelving. They are lying open on the floor…along with dead bodies of Templars.

It’s difficult to say if any of the mess is a sign of a recent struggle. The air smells, something burnt and nauseating. Hard to describe, but I recognize it from Ostagar. I fear for what it might be…flesh.

The quietness of the library puts me on edge. My shuffling feet is the only noise creating echoes throughout the room. I peek at each aisle between the bookshelves to make sure it’s clear before moving on. How empty the place is provides evidences that Daylen have passed here. He and everyone else have dealt with all threats that dominant here. However, that doesn’t settle my anxious mind.

It would be my luck if someone missed that one enemy, and I run into it.

I enter the chamber on the left at the far end of the library, just as Neria described. I come so close to vomiting where I stand. It’s more of a slaughter house from a horror movie then a study room. Blood is smear ever where, a combination of both fresh and old, and has a higher body count than in the previous room. My eyes begin to water, and I’m forced to hide my nose in my shirt. The smell inspires my fast pace up the stairs.

Once I reach the top of the stair, shut the door behind me. Impatiently and dramatically, I inhale a large breath. Lean my back against door, and I slide down to the floor.

I’m going to have nightmares, within my nightmares.

“Why did I think this was such a good idea?”

Suddenly realize I have an audience. Standing in a distance is a mage. He has blank stare and holding a crate full of items. From the chantry’s sun engraved on his forehead, he’s a tranquil.

“Hi?” I greet awkwardly. “You, um …wouldn’t happen to know if a group of people passed by here?”

In his monotone voice, he answers, “Many have.” The mage turns his head in the direction of where they went.

“Thank you.” I stand up from my spot, and I feel his eyes watching my movements. A shiver goes down my spine as his eyes follow me. I enter a study area with stone pillars in shambles and, surprise, more dead bodies. The scent of copper and iron lingers the closer I get to them. It’s leaving a metallic taste on my tongue. The blood pooling around the dead bodies is bright red.

They must have been recently killed.

I recall the obstacles I had faced during the Broken Circle quest. One of them is fighting a group of blood mages. My Warden’s first encounter with them was in this room, after meeting a tranquil. Actually, it was same one I met not long ago. I remember a special cut seen where one begs for their life. I examine the bodies more carefully. This must be them. However, I notice they are all men. The beggar was a red-headed woman. Where is her body?

I scan the surroundings, nothing but rubble. That’s…concerning.

Nowhere to go but left, I proceed down that hallway. Usually, a trail of dead bodies would lead me in the right direction. However, that’s difficult advice to follow when bodies are lying in random places. I walk with anticipation. Grabbing my crossbow from my back as I see some of the doors are wide open. Holding the weapon does nothing to calm my nerves.

This can mean Daylen has been through here and cleared the rooms, or abominations don’t know how to shut doors.

I’m hoping for the first option.

Sounds of swords clashing and voltage zapping are up ahead. I duck behind the closest statue to hide. Slowly, I lean to take a peak of the commotion. The good news, I found the people

I’m looking for. Bad news, they’re in the middle of fighting shades.

I pay that none of the demons see me. The scene in front of me is mesmerizing. I can’t look away. I keep track of how many shades they’re battling. Leliana fights with daggers, swiftly stabbings them. Sten, with his double handed sword, strikes the creatures down. The zapping is coming from Morrigan spell casting. She conjures electricity. Alistair uses a Templar shield and bashes a demon against the wall. Daylen assisted his fellow warden by casting ice shackles on its wrists, bounding it on the wall. Alistair takes the chance to amputate its head. Barkspawn is tugging at demon’s forearm like a chew toy.

More rise from the floor. One is summon behind Wynne, and creeping towards her. Everyone else is distracted, shit…

I grab a bolt from my quiver and load it. The last time I try to shoot, the circumstance was sudden. The pressure of it all put me in a state of panic. It was at night, darkspawn were coming right after us, after me. I acted out. (And I’m starting to understand why the archer stopped me.)

None of them have discovered me. This gives me time to think, to prepare. Something I lack before.

A feeling of dread overwhelms me as I think of my ex. The recollection of the time I spend a weekend with him and his family, on a family friend’s ranch. This family he was close with lived in isolation. It’s nothing but dirt and dust for miles on that plot of land.

_“Sweetheart, I don’t know about this.” I hold a loaded shotgun he handed me._

_Shooting practice was not how I wanted to spend my afternoon._

_He grunts and said sternly, “Babe, it's fine. Didn’t you say you shot before?”_

_I frowned. I did. I went to a shooting range with my dad and his buddy Dan. Dan worked as a security guard for the Temple my family attended. He lent me one of his hands guns, and I shot a few rounds. However, I didn’t hold the gun properly and snagged my hand when the gun recoiled. It was a frightening experience. I hadn’t picked up a gun since. Dan would be disappointed every time I turn down his offer to go shooting with him and dad. He said I had potential._

_“Once,” I whined, “And I was fourteen!”_

_“You’ll be fine.” He became irritated. That was the end of that discussion as he walked away. He placed a empty plastic bottle on the ground, on top of a flat rock. My boyfriend made sure it stayed put before joined me. He pointed to the object._

_“Just point the gun at it.”_

_Because I wanted to please my boyfriend, I did what I was told. I took aim at the plastic bottle sitting on a rock._

_He stood close beside me and began instructing me. “Take a deep breath.”_

I reenact the flash back. I part my feet slightly and lined up my shot at the shade’s head. I take a deep and steady breath as I place my finger on the trigger. His next words echo through my brain.

_“And shoot.”_

The bolt flies at the demon, and straight through its luminous eye cleanly. The shade screeches. This alerts Wynne to turn around. She prepares to finish it off with her staff, but it sinks to the floor before the spell is even casted.

“YES!!” I pump my fist into the air.

Full of joy, I jump out from my hiding spot. I ignore the pain in my shoulder from the recoil of my crossbow.

My yelling catches everyone’s attention. All heads turn in my direction.

“Uh-oh…”

Luckily, the brief distraction allows Daylen and his companions to finish their enemy. One by one, they descend through stone floor in black vapor. When the last demon is vanquished, Wynne turns in my direction glaring. I wave my fingers at them awkwardly.

“We have a stalker, it seems.” Morrigan lowers her staff.

Wynne yells, “You were supposed to stay behind!”

“I…” My tongue knots itself. “I-I know, but…”

The elder mage lets out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever excuse you may have is not good enough for you to—”

“D-Déjà vu,” I blurt out.

Confuse looks are exchange among the group, expect for Wynne. Her enrage eyes are dead set on me. She quickens her pace when she walks towards me. Wynne pulls me to the side, out of ear shot from everyone.

“Explain. Now.” Her calm grandmotherly voice is harsh.

Nervously, I begin to babble. “There’s a room up ahead, it has a rage demon waiting to ambush, and it’s accompanied by two, maybe three, abominations. There’s no avoiding them. If you pass that door, they will charge from behind.” Wynne silence offers no comfort, so I continue. “I was able to get here fine. Without being seen—”

“The reason why you have gotten this far is because we have cleared every threat we’ve encounter.” She rebukes. I flinch from her tone.

“I’ll give you that, but Wynne…what I’m telling you. It’s true.”

Wynne closes her eyes and lays her frustration to rest. I can see her eyebrows furrowing in debate. She sighs, “I doubt you came all the way here to tell us this.”

Tense silence between us is like an ocean wave. It comes and lingers, but not for long.

“Just like at Ostagar…” Wynne assume, “You can sense when the danger is coming.”

“I…can give you a rough estimate of how many we’ll be up against throughout the way.”

“You speak for the entire tower?”

I nod slowly.

Wynne briefly glances in everyone’s direction, and deliberation is made.

“You are to not leave my side.” Wynne emphases, “When we encounter danger, you _will_ not engage. You hide, which you prove you know how to do.”

She escorts me to the group. “Ellen we’ll be accompanying us. No objection I hope, Daylen?”

The Grey Warden in charge has no complaints. Wynne introduces me. “She’s not very skillful with the crossbow, but it is another weapon for us to use against the demons.”

Leliana protests, “I beg to differ. By the looks of it, she saved your life, Wynne.”

“No, Wynne’s right.” I declare. I don’t want anyone to valuing a skill that I have no experience in. “I got lucky with that shot. I wasn’t seen and was able to take my time.”

Alistair asks. “Why the sudden change of mind?” He turns to me apologetically. “Not that you’re not welcomed, Ellen. She was just very adamant about you staying…where you were.”

“As much I wish for her go back, the moment we turn around, she’ll follow us.” Wynne answers simply.

“And it has nothing to do with the weird word she mentioned?” Alistair raises an eyebrow. “At all?”

Wynne gives me an irritated side glimpse. “That remains to be seen.”

I gulp a wad of spit down my dry throat.

Oh she’s scary when she’s angry calm.

We leave the conversation ad it is, and proceed forward. Alistair and Daylen are concern, the way they keep exchanging looks and then looking at me. Daylen orders Barkspawn to stay by my side. The mabari is more than content to do so. Sten, always the stoic type, says nothing about it. Morrigan shoots me distrustful glances. Leliana so far is the only person happy to see me.

She even mumbles to me, “That was a good shot” in my ear.

“Daylen,” Wynne calls out to him. “Be on your guard. We’ll expecting unpleasant company in the room up ahead.”

Alistair chimes in. “More unpleasant than last bunch?”

“Very much so,” Wynne isn’t in the mood to humor the Templar.

“I can’t imagine.” His words are dipped in sarcasm.

Although he’s confused, Daylen agrees, “Of course.”

I stay behind Wynne, as promised. Better than this way. It’s easier to avoid looking at anyone in the eyes as I haven’t recovered my embarrassing ordeal of how I join this party. In my opinion: worst recruitment ever.

We stop in front of the door I warned Wynne about. Before Sten opens it, Wynne whispers a spell and bright orange light is summoned at the top of her staff. She raises it to the ceiling, and the spell disperses in eight small threads. The thin lights aim at each individual. My reflexes flinch. There is no pain, but I did feel a warm spot on my chest where the light hit. Our bodies glow for a moment.

“A fire resistant spell, Wynne?” question Daylen.

Sten is the only one who voiced his complaint, unhappy that a spell was placed on him without his consent.

“You will be glad I did, Sten.” Wynne calms the Qunari.

His responses back with a glare and a large huff. Sten grabs the handle and slams it wide open.

I’m right about the rage demon and the abominations, but I didn’t expect were the shades.

“Shit!” I curse.

They notice us.

“Ellen!” Wynne scolds.

“Sorry!”

Right away, the demons and abominations begin an attack formation. Sten, the massive tank he is, charges with his claymore and pushes back both abominations. They can’t complete with his strength and are forced to backpedal as the Qunari moves forward.

I didn’t proceed with everyone else to defend the room. I remain hidden from view. Occasionally, I peak from the door frame to see the fight, they aren’t overwhelmed with shades. In fact, the dark ghastly creatures are a breeze to deal with compared to the rage demon. Though, they should have no difficulty taking it down. Rage demons are lesser demons, so…

All gaming logic goes out the window as I see Alistair get knocked back several feet away. The blonde warden is on one knee. He refuses to drop the shield defending him. The rage demon roars and storm towards him. The fiery monster pounds its fists against the metal object. Alistair force to keep his stance until an arrow strike the demon’s back.

How the hell does a person take down a demon that’s made out of lava with normal weapons?!

The six foot tall molten lava creature summons a fireball and cast it towards Leliana. She dodges it gracefully with lunge to the side. However, now the attack is hurling in my direction.

I squeak and quickly duck my head out of the way. I watch as the fireball hit the wall across from me and burst on impact. My heart rapidly beats against my chest like a drum. I came so close to becoming toast. Literally.

The fireball discourages me from anymore side showing until the commotion is over. Silence is an indication that the fight is over and it’s safe to move on.

“Abominations…” Daylen gasps.

Wynne reminds him, “Unfortunately, that will not be the last we see any.”

After they check for any survivors, they exit the room and we set off down the hallway. We’ve come across the last room of the corridor, Irving’s grand study room.

It’s in a massive mess. The table that once stood in the middle of the room is lipped over and the chairs are scattered. Papers and scrolls lay across on the floor. Books have fallen from their cases. The long blue rug stretching from the entry to Irving’s desk is torn apart.

“Such a number of books. How many are not decorations?” Sten observes.

“Is that all the mages do with their time here?” Morrigan criticizes. “Read and collect?”

The chest tuck in back corner of the room what catches my attention. It’s tipped over and open. All of its goods are spilled out. Daylen heads straight to the desk, as everyone spreads out to take a look around the environment. I’m drawn toward the chest. I bend down, and rummage through. It’s nothing but scrolls and loose papers, and…a black leather-bound book?

I take closer look at the stand out book and notice a white intricate design of a tree on the cover.

The aesthetic is too…black magic for Irving’s taste. Why does he have something like this—?

Oh no.

Oh, no, no, NO!

This is the black grimoire that begins Morrigan’s personal quest, the same quest that would lead to slaying _Flemeth_?!

I could never get enough approval points with Morrigan to begin her quest in any of my play-throughs. Never put her in my party, and I never talk to her at camp (I forget to.) So, I did the best next thing, I skim through the Dragon Age Wiki article of it. The moment I saw ‘Kill’ and ‘Flemeth’ in the same sentence, I stopped reading. That was all the motivation I needed to not go through with it. Ever. The Witch of the Wilds saved my warden(s) from Ostagar. I felt indebted to her.

Of course, that didn’t matter whether I kill her or not in _Origins_. She appears in _Dragon Age 2_ very much alive to save Hawke.

But that’s forced game plot why she’s alive in Dragon Age 2. Obviously, I keep getting reminded that this isn’t a game.

If Daylen agrees, by some miracle they get that close, and Flemeth really dies. Who would save Hawke and her family? And then who the fuck is going to save the shit city of Kirkwall if not Hawke?!

No. I can’t let Morrigan have this.

“Find anything of use?”

A mousy squeak escapes my voice box. I cover the book with the papers and scrolls in panic. Quickly, I stand on my clumsy feet.

The least person I want to see is crossing her arms and waiting for a reply. Morrigan's amber eyes trail to the pile behind me briefly.

“Um…” I struggle to find words. “Nothing, just papers, and…more papers?”

Her eyebrow cocks up.

Before she can pry any more out of me, Daylen saves me. He calls Morrigan over to Irving's desk, along with Wynne. I see him placing a hand under desk, patting around until he finds a key.

“What are you planning on with that key?” Wynne asks.

“Something I’m uncomfortable doing.” Daylen answers with a frown. He unlocks a bottom drawl.

“Forgive me, Master Irving, but the circumstance is dire.”

I stroll to Daylen’s side and take a peek inside Irving’s desk. A stock of lyrium glows. The Grey Warden takes three bottles, one for each mage in the party. He then passes the bottles to Wynne and Morrigan.

“Taking his lyrium?” Wynne examines the potion in her hand.

Morrigan gives a wicked smile when she receives her lyrium. I take it as silent gesture she approves of Daylen’s actions. Wynne accepts the offer, but with a frown. However, she refrains from saying anything negative. The guilt is obvious on Daylen’s expression. He takes out an amulet and hands it in to me.

“Here, you will need this more than any of us.”

I hesitate in taking the piece of jewelry. “What does it do?” 

“It’s a powerful enchantment that can protect you from fade magic.” Daylen explains. “It works in a similar fashion that of a Templar. Any casting done on you, the stone will nullify them magic. The lyrium containing on the stone will keep the Fade magic at bay. However, it does have its limit. Once the lyrium is completely drained from the stone, the enchantment no longer works.”

“So lyrium can enhance magic, or can be used to dispel magic?”

“That’s right.” Alistair walks towards the conversation circle. “Try to think lyrium like a double edge sword. It can work against anyone.”

I place the piece around my neck. I admire the large red jewel.

“When we survivor this ordeal, all I ask is your return it to Master Irving.”

We gather what we can and we are met with a barricade after leaving the room. Chairs and tables block the door leading upstairs. All that’s missing is a warning sign of “Do Not Enter” smeared on the wall to make this true horror experience.

“Do you get the feeling things are getting worse as we go up?” Alistair is draught while staring distraughtly at the blockage.

I hold back a groan as he’s absolutely right. It does, it very much does. We remove the chairs and tables, one by one, to clear a way.

The third floor we will encounter nothing but possessed Templars and shambling corpses. The first foyer we enter is just a taste of what’s to come. The room is large and wide and so far the highest body count. Some of the dead bodies are charred. The corpses disturb me for multiple reasons. The blankly obvious reason, they are dead bodies. Reason number two is what’s freaking me out the most. Corpses don’t stay dead!

I scream when I witness their reanimation.

“Spirits!” Daylen announces, “We must be on our guard!”

Wynne shouts at me to take cover as they deal with them. One after another, the bodies continue to rise and all I can do is watch in horror. Among the dead, I notice a senior mage. Dead mage plus spirit possession equals…oh no.

I deliver my warning to Wynne too late as a spirit possesses the mage’s corpse. And not just any spirit, a pride demon. How did I know it was a pride demon specifically? It’s the only spirit that can turn a dead mage into an arcane horror. I watch it come into being. The body morphs into a tall and lanky demon with rotten grey flesh, like most creatures we’ve come across so far. Claws for hands and the transparent skirt have patterns. The patterns appear to be like veins, almost. A tall red headdress materializes over the face. Rusty gold pointed collar piece extend out from its shoulders in armor like fashion.

I hide and wait until all is taken care of.

It’s becoming a habit the farther along we go and with every individual room we pass. When we’re not fighting, we travel in uncomfortable silence. The tension I feel, I can’t but think it might be my fault. I’m adding on to their stress because not only do they have to take care of each other, but a person that can’t defend herself.

“Wynne?”

I immediately regret bringing attention to my anxious thoughts as Wynne turns her head. She waits patiently. I crack under the pressure. “Is…it really that bad I’m here?”

“This is nothing like Ostagar. There is nowhere to run to. You’re trapped, and the only escape is by the hands of a demon… or a templar.” The elder mage answers honestly. “Your lack of combat experience makes you a liability, but that is not what I am worried about…”

I have to ask, “Is it the déjà vu?”

“No, it’s your involvement with…” Wynne doesn’t finish as she notice eyes peering in our direction. She lowers her voice. “When demons enter the world of the living, they’re overwhelmed with sensations they never experienced before. It put demons in a state of madness, the lesser ones at least. They’ll want to seek familiarity, and your recent encounter with the Fade might attract them.”

Greagoir assumed the same thing. Why? How?

“I don’t get that. How can demons tell that I came from…you know.” I whisper harshly, “I’m not exactly shouting at the top of my lungs.”

“You do not have to,” She shakes her head. “Demons are able to sense emotions from us. The ordeal is still fresh in your memories.”

“Are…you saying that I shouldn’t be thinking about the Fade, especially around demons?”

“Sound advice you should not ignore.”

I haven’t notice Leliana sneaking to Wynne’s side until she speaks. “You two have been exchanging whispers excessively.” She observes.

Wynne plasters a fake smile. “Ellen has some concerns that she was too shy to voice out loud.”

“Oh?” this peaks the bard’s interest. She shortens her steps until her pace match with ours.

“Does it involve with what you’ve—” Her tone shifts, “…Already seen?”

My mind runs in circle of what she’s hinting at. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“ _Déjà vu_ ,” Leliana mentions, “Means ‘already seen.’ In Orlais, it’s used when someone speaks of a vision. Most days, it’s an excuse for Orlesians to speak of their imaginativeness. Express ‘their vision’ of the future. Somehow, I doubt this is the case with you.”

Oh… shit.

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

It actually means something?!

Our conversation distracts me from where we are. I realize too late we’ve reached the end of the hallway, and the last door of the third floor. I remember the abominations, shades, and the corpses lingering in room in front of him. He grabs hold of the handle and pushes the door open.

“Daylen, wait—”

Even with the warning, I don’t think they could prepare themselves of the overall sight. I gasp. It’s as if I walked right into the nightmare dimension of _Silent Hill_. There isn’t one stone brick that’s not covered in splatters of blood. Stone pillars surround the room, but one stand in the middle of the circular anteroom. It’s broken and covered in cocoons of otherworldly substance. It appears to be bruising flesh. A disturbing image of what an air sacs of the lung might be like if enlarged, it glistens under the touch light. Dark, horn like, spikes stick out from cocoons.

As expected, they are numerous shambling corpses and shades. But, their focus is on the tranquil mages they have surrounded.

“We must help them!” Daylen pleads.

Everyone falls into formation. Sten, Alistair, and Barkspawn are the first wave to charge through, followed by Morrigan and Daylen. Leliana leaves our side and hang back close to the walls. She has her bow already in hand, leaning ranged support. Wynne and I are last, watching the fight unfold.

They’re not going to make it.

Shades approach closer to the motionless mages.

They can’t be saved in time.

“Wynne, you’re going to need to cast a stronger fire resistance spell,” I shout, “Right NOW!”

In the same moment, the tranquil have transformed into abominations. The mages are their knees in agonizing pain, clutching at their heads.

Without delay, Wynne casts a cloak of resistance upon us. Well, expect for me. The spell gets absorbed into the stone I’m wearing. Oh, son of a—!

“Get behind the pillar, and stay there!” Wynne follows the rest of her companions into the heat of battle.

Ice generates from Daylen’s fingertips and hurls it at few nearby enemies. Woven by a frozen breeze, the demons are trap in a large transparent icicle. The warriors take advantage. Sten hack away at their forms with the swinging of his claymore. Alistair bashes in heads with his shield. Barkspawn’s jaw clings on to the first arm he sees. The mabari refuses to let go until he tears off the limb from its host.

Leliana uses a fallen pillar for coverage as she aims to take out shambling archers. A difficult task when the skeletons have spiked armor on. Her arrows keep deflecting. I rush towards the closet pillar, but peak over. Morrigan motions her hands to summon electricity. The element is wild and sporadic in her palm and she unleashes it towards a shade.

They are overwhelmed with demons. I curse mentally, if only I had my fire bombs. They’re veiled with fire resistance magic. I could throw bombs, and the explosions wouldn’t cause much harm to them, and that would take care of a few—

Wait, explosions…?

Abominations can explode!

“Leliana!” I call out. The red-head turns in my directions. “Aim for the abominations!”

I give a shout out to Wynne as well. I hope she heard my warning among the uproar. I load a bolt from my quiver and take aim at one of the abominations. Leliana instantly acts and shoots an arrow straight through deform creature’s neck. Unnatural color blood ooze out, and it stops all movement. Not a moment too soon, Wynne fabricates individual shields. The transparent force fields eased the impact of the explosion.

Just as I hoped, friend fire takes effect. Shades and skeletons in rage catch on fire. The bones of the undead soldiers begin to blacken, and then crumble. The ghastly demons let out a dying screech.

While the shields are still casted, I line up my shot. The abomination I have in sight is far. I imagine it as a glass bottle. Inhale a deep breath. Like before. But before I pull the trigger, a snarl echoes from behind. Suddenly, I feel a gash traveling down my spine. I yelp and run from pillar, but too fast for my feet to keep up with my adrenaline.

I trip and hiss when I collided with the stone floor. Flip over to see a shade looming where I once stood. Threatening gurgles escape its deep throat. Slowly, it approaches.

Panic sets in, and I crawl away. It’s harder to escape from it the closer it comes. My body aches, and my limbs lose their strength to carry me, let alone lift my cross bow. Drawing air into the lungs is like breathing water, difficult and suffocating. I’m more aware, more sensitive, of the open wound of on my back. Frustration and confusion clouds me. Why the sudden lack of stamina?

“Fuck!”

The shade lunges, and I scream. Its attack is interrupted by a familiar white bolt. The lesser demon shrieks. Its void-color body sinks into the floor, leaving nothing behind. All the tension and adrenaline wash away. My body gets comfortable. I can feel my muscle molding with the cracks on the stone cold floor.

That was too damn close.

“Ellen,” Daylen appears by my side, towers over me. “Are you hurt?”

The grey warden extends his hand, and I struggle to take it. The sting of my back reminds me that I am. “I got scratched. It doesn’t hurt so much now.” I lie. I notice the silent of the room and how empty it is. “We should get going.” Daylen gets me back on my feet. I disarm the bolt from my bow and place it back in its quiver. Barkspawn strolls towards us. Nudge his head at my hip and circle around me as if examining me. He stops in his track and hear a whimper behind me. A slight gasp from Daylen makes me wonder how bad the wound is.

“Wynne!”

The senior mage walks with urgency. She observes the injury and frowns.

“I can stop the bleeding, but we will need bandage it up. Prevent it from getting infected.”

“I believe I have a poultice.” Leliana rushes to us. Her bag is already off her back and she’s pulling the flop open.

Daylen addresses to the rest of his companions. “While we have a moment, now is a good time to tend any injuries we have.”

Sten grunts, “Stopping because of a scratch. Humans are feeble.” Abruptly adds on how we have survived as a species.

I glare. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Not everyone can be seven foot giant with rock-hard skin. Fuck you!

“Each person has their own a limit, Sten.” Daylen reminds his Qunari friend. More like motherly scolding because how firm his tone is.

With Leliana and Wynne attending to my wound, it doesn’t take long to bind it up. I don’t feel as spent as I did when facing the shade. It’s so strange, like my energy was being drained? Maybe I’m imagining it.

We advance up the stairs, leaving what Daylen referred to as the Great Hall. The fourth floor, the Templar Quarters, is as terrible as the room down stairs. The entrance hall stone interior is covered in blood, and the enormous column supporting the ceiling is decorated in the same skin texture cocoons. Spikes, bigger and darker, spew out of it like a ball and chain flail.

“No...ugh...I'm going to have nightmares after this." Leliana is mortified as I am. Barkspawn gags in agreement.

I’m overwhelmed with the scene and the scent of iron and copper. I retreat. My wobbly knees can only get me so far without tripping. I cover nose and mouth, and cough into my hand. I’m trying my hardest to not vomit.

“Ellen?”

“I’m fine.” My coughing isn’t convincing anyone. “Just thinking how demons are TERRIBLE interior decorators. Blood stain walls doesn’t make a room livelier.”

A bad taste forms in my mouth after inhaling the metallic odor. I force myself to swallow. We avert our eyes from the sight, those who are bothered by it anyhow. The smell lingers in the hallway we entered, but it triggers an event memory. The demons, the desire and sloth, are in the rooms up ahead. Like hell if I don’t say anything about it. It was a disaster dealing with an arcane horror, the rage demon, and then the cluster fuck downstairs. We got lucky!!

“Waitwaitwait!” I hurry to be in front of the group, in front of Daylen specifically.

Wynne calls out to me in a ticked-off manner. All are waiting impatiently for an explanation of why the sudden halt. By a person who is a liability nonetheless.

“This needs to be said because I have HAD it.” I state with frustration. “I keep getting distracted and not being able to—okay not the point! I’m doing it now. There are two doors coming. Door number one” –I point the door to the right of me— “Has a desire demon, possessing a Templar. Behind door number two is the sloth demon. It’ll put everyone to sleep the moment we walk into that room. Seriously fuck that thing. Annoying, piece of—”

“Ellen,” Wynne scolds me again.

Immediately, I shut down my rant. “Right. Sorry. The rest of the rooms down this hall have possessed Templars. Three or four to a room I think. Unfortunately, we can’t do anything for them.”

The Grey Warden mage has never been more confused, as if I’m speaking a different language. He looks to his teammates for a translation. All share the same skepticism with a frown. They are disturbed by the information given.

“You’re certain?” Wynne is the only one to speak up. Alistair raises an eyebrow at the grandmotherly mage.

A humming whine escapes my lips. “Not exactly on the Templar arrangement, but everything else pretty positive.” I recall the frustration in fight against the desire demon. Dealing with the sloth demon was worse. Going into that damn thing’s territory in the Fade is a nightmare. THAT BLASTED MAZE! And that muti-stage boss fight, OH MY GOD! Don’t even get me started on—

If we can kill the sloth demon before it puts everyone to sleep. I can spare Daylen the agonizing stupid puzzle solving and dreadful Fade exploring.

I’m not bitter about the Broken Circle questline. Not even the tiniest bit!

Daylen lips are thin from his frowning. “Wynne,” but he trails off as he notices how lightly his elder is taking the news. The young male swallows uncomfortably. “You… you believe this to be true?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time to explain.” The elder woman says firmly. Daylen straighten his posture as Wynne turn to him. “How do you want to approach this?”

“That is if, and only if, we take her word—” Alistair interjects. “Ellen, I’m sure you’re a nice woman, and mean well, but what you’re saying is…” The grey warden looks over to his peer. Daylen reminds silent. He sighs, “Well, there is no way to put this delicately is there? Crazy. What you’re saying is crazy.”

Wynne assures, “As unbelievable as it may seem, her advice his sound.”

“Your word is no better than hers.” Morrigan complains.

“She is the reason why we survived Ostagar.” Wynne ignores the swamp witch. “With her…instructions we were able to escape the horde.”

Leliana gives Daylen a pleading look. With a soft tone, she encourages the man to give me a chance, just as he did with her and her spoken vision.

“I…” The ice mage ponders. “I would like to hear more of these demons will be up against.”

Leliana is smiling. Morrigan shakes her head with disbelief.

Alistair sighs, “Does normal still exist somewhere?”

Sten stares intensely at Daylen, studying him almost. Barkspawn’s focus is on whoever is currently speaking. His mood is not affected by the decision made.

“The desire demon would try to bargain first before she becomes hostile.” I play the cut scene in my head. I quickly ramble on. “After that, the Templar she’s controlling will attack us along with reanimating corpses….or was it summon shade? Either way, it won’t be pretty. The sloth demon, as I said, he’ll put us to sleep when he sees us. There’s no way to escape it. My suggestion, take out the desire first then the ugly big guy.” I sway my head side to side to remember the details. “She’ll be looking for her next…victim? Once she finished with the Templar.”

“If we were to be put to sleep, then we’ll be vulnerable.” Daylen understands. “Yes, that will be a concern.”

Wynne asks, “You’ve made a decision then?”

“I have.” The grey warden nods. “We will confront this desire demon first. Save the Templar.”

I can help but grin. However, it’s not for long. Daylen smiles to match my delight but, I notice how strain his cheek muscles are. It’s forced. The corners of his mouth are tense, and the crease on his forehead displays worry. He proceeds and the rest follow. I trail behind them. A conversation is being carried down the hallway, the farther we go. Voices, multiple voices are participating. A man is present, the Templar, asking his wife and children how their day went. The demoness fluctuate her voice to fit all three roles.

“Isn’t this wonderful husband. Isn’t our life prefect?”

“Yes.” The Templar answers with a dreamily sigh. “It is all perfect.”

Upon scene, a sultry demon is clinging on the Templar’s shoulders. She smothers him with caress touches and feathery kisses. The demon is how I remember her, purple skinned and dark long horns that curve at the end. Nothing is modest this demon. Her coverage is golden nipple tassels and connected to a complicated golden neck piece. She has transparent frill…leggings? It’s difficult to describe. The material is tight enough to be mistake for skin. Her dark, spiked tail sways with gravity.

“Everything is just as you wanted my knight. Our love and our family is more than you hoped for.”  The demoness seduces Templar by cradling his cheek with her hand and lightly nipping at his ear. The man leans into her touch.    

Wynne is horrified by the display. “T-this cannot continue. We have to stop it...”

The desire demon whips her head around. She bares her sharp teeth and her piercing yellow eyes glare in our direction.

“Do you hear something, love?”

“It is nothing my darling, just the door.” She gets back into character. The fantasy remains unbroken. “I will get it. The children have finished supper. Tuck them into bed while I see who it is.”

“Don’t be loooong.” He teases, “The children will want to kiss you goodnight.”

“I will be but a moment, my pet.”

The demoness addresses us angrily. “You are intruding upon a loving, intimate moment and I dislike disruptions!”

“You have ensorcelled this Templar, release him.” Daylen demands.

“Why? He is in no physical pain. The opposite, he is content.” She chimes, “Happiness is bewitching. There is a certain power in all things mortals delight in. I have given him what he always wanted. Where is the harm in that?”

Daylen argues, “This deception you’ve casted on him is deceitful. That alone is harmful, but paying price of sleep deprivation and starvation.”

“‘Tis a true representation of marriage,” Morrigan shrugs, “A lesson for all who consider such a life.”

The she demon hovers towards us, but she keeps a safe distance. “Marriage is a concept of love and commitment…all emotion is intangible. You cannot see it, cannot grasp it.”

Wynne intervenes, “But is normally caused by something real—real events, real people. What you’ve done to him is…is abhorrent.”

“I saw his loneliness and longing for a family that loved him.”

“You feed off his innermost desires and taking away his will. This…this is unholy.” Leliana quarrels. “He deserves to be free, to find his own happiness.”

Creature of sin becomes offended. “What happiness? He has gone through life empty, resentful of his vows. You return him to this. Leave us be” Her growl echoes. “I want nothing from—you…”

Desire takes notice of me. Our eyes meet and I become nervous how intense her stare is. She levitates towards me at a slow pace, like a shark after its prey. My heart pump faster and faster, but she doesn’t get too close. More like she can’t. Leliana appears by my side, protectively close, with a hand on her dagger. Barkspawn inserts himself in between. He bends his hind legs and growls. No one else in the group dares to move, all they do is obverse.

“You’re human?”

Her question makes no sense. “Yes…?”

Of course I am! What else would I be?! Just because I came from the Fade—

And the memories resurface. The mages gasping, being told I physically fell from the Fade, the accusations, my innocence being proven, I remember it all. A sense of fears washes over me.

The demon’s pupils dilate, as if reading my mind. She entices Daylen, “I will release the man, in exchange, leave this woman with me. I bother no one else.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that.”

She doesn’t like the answer given. Her head tilts in an unnatural angle. The gaze never leaves his until she calls out to her Templar pet. “Help!” The demoness resumes her role as the wife, but in distress. “There are bandits at the door! They’re going to murder the children!”

“They will not get past me!” The bewitched Templar immediately comes to her rescue. At the same time, skeletal corpses are summoned. They rise up from the ground, out of pitch black holes.

A smirk perks at the corner of the demon’s lips. The next thing I know, I’m thrown across the room like a rag doll. I lose grip on my cross during the sudden acceleration. My back slams hard against the stone wall. It knocks the wind out of me. Burn sensations appear in certain sport on my backside, mostly near the spine of where my wound is. The hard leather quiver is digging into my skin.  I fear my wounds might have reopened, on top of freshly made cuts. An invisible force has me pinned. My arms and legs are spread out and frozen in place. There’s nothing solid under my feet.

I wheeze out a cry, “F-Fuck!”

“Ellen!”

My name is called. Before anyone can strike the demon down, she vanishes. More corpse rise from the floor and surrounds them. The purple creature of desire appears in a puff of black vapor in front of me. Her yellow eyes trail my figure.

“I sense that the Fade has marked you.” She bends down wards my neck and I hear her inhaling to get a whiff of my scent.

She whispers, “What raw emotions you have. Angry, confused, curious, frighten, and above all else your desire of returning home. The Fade took you away.”

Panic sends a wave of jolts through my vein. My head is pounding and my chest tightens. I want nothing more to go home. Return to my family, my friends, and to my apartment with my amenities. Return to my hermit crab life.

“I can help you.” Desire notoriously smiles.

Her voice is dipped with conviction and seduction. I almost believe her. What little self-control I have I used to my eyes tightly. Pretend briefly she’s not there. “N-No.” I convince myself. “No, you can’t.”

My home is beyond her reach, I remind myself. The situation I’m in can’t be fixed by a demon’s hand. Neria and Irving…the will find a way. If not them, someone who has intense knowledge on the Fade will. 

“The Fade is not as unattainable as you believe, especially with if we conjoin our talents.” Her hands cup my cheeks gently. But they quickly retreat and I hear a hiss escaping her lips.

Her face is engulfed in pain. The force holding me is gone and gravity drags me down. More scrapes are added when I land on my knees and hands. I grunt and lift my head when I hear the demoness roaring and placing a hand over the arrow imbedded in her shoulder. Her glare is fixated on the person responsible for such grief. From a distance, Leliana is in an archer’s stance. She is grabbing another arrow from her quiver.

Desire snarls and pulls the arrow out of her shoulder. With a wave of her hand, she summons another wave of corpses to target Leliana. I take the chance to stand on my feet. The adrenaline kicks in. I run. However, I don’t get far. The demon appears in front of me, staring down unhappily.

There’s no escape from her. Overwhelming fear makes the adrenaline pumping in my veins unbearable. I feel the building sweat drip down my neck. Trapped. Cornered. I retreat to put space between us.

The demoness hovers leisurely to me. My mind is functioning on one word. Escape. Escape. Escape.

It seems impossible to find one the closer the purple creature approaches.

_Then make one, fucker._

Something inside of me snaps. Fear turns into rage. I’m sick of being targeted, and not doing anything about it. I’m absolutely done cowering!

I let out a scream to release some stress. Desire can sense the change in me as I charge towards her without a hesitation. It catches her by surprise. I tackle her to the ground. Straddle her hips in-between my thighs. Grab hold of both her wrists and pin them down so she wouldn’t move.

She struggles to get loose from my grip, and almost manage to in a few attempts. She hollers and hisses at me. I’m not giving up, but at the same time, I haven’t thought what would happen if I did. We’re at a stale mate for the time being, however I don’t have the stamina to keep this up forever.

A piece metal blocks my view of the demon’s face. A sword pierces through her neck. I see unnatural color blood gushing out like overflowing lava. Her body becomes still and slowly phases into the stone like quick sand.

A gauntlet hand presents itself, and I take it. Alistair is the one to lift me off the ground. With the desire demon slain, so are her undead minions. My legs are shaking; actually my entire body is from the adrenaline leaving my system. I ache all over.

Wynne storms in my direction.

“What were you thinking?!”

“I…” Still recovering from my daze, it makes me a moment to properly come up with an answer. I guess that was my problem, I wasn’t thinking. I just got so angry. “I was done being scared…” I stare at the spot where I tackled the demon to the ground.

Me…I did that.

Unbelievable.

Not the reply she wants to hear as her frown grows. “That was not bravery you demonstrated! What you did was reckless.” She lectures me. “You are never to do that again.” Wynne cups my cheeks and force to make eyes contact. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Is my automatic reply.

“We have already lost many lives to the demons here.” Wynne’s thumb rubs against my cheek bone and mumbles softly, “I don’t wish to add you to the count.”

I acknowledge her, and she drops her hands to her side. I gawk at the rest of the people in the room. Alistair, Daylen, and Leliana have fretfulness expressions. Their eyebrows are scrunch forward. Barkspawn pounce in my direction, nudge his hard head at my hip. Morrigan has distrustful stare. Her nose is up in the air. I’m not entirely sure what’s on Sten’s mind as he’s the first one out of the room. Wynne leads me to the exit, and along the way picks up my cross bow to give to me.

Daylen breaks the silence. “The desire demon bargained and commanded the Templar and the undead to attack us. Just as you said, then the sloth demon lurking in the nearby…”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “He’ll put everyone to sleep as soon as we walk into that room. There’s no way around it.”

“Knowing this, we can work it to our advantage. Not all of us will enter. Leliana, Morrigan, and Ellen will stay back. Defeat the sloth demon from a range while it’s briefly distracted. If we fall victim to its casting slumber, it won’t last long.”

Leliana hums, “This is rather risky.”

“Yes,” Morrigan smirks. “Placing your lives in our hands, Warden.”

Her words makes Alistair fidget, he immediately rejects the idea. “Does it have to be this plan? We can’t come up with a better one, something more reliable?”

“It is reliable, Alistair, and the best we have on such short notice. We don’t want to risk being discovered.” Daylen persuades.

“Right, well, if we wake up by the Maker’s side we know who to blame.” Alistair gives a side glare in Morrigan’s direction.

“You and your foolishness,” Says the condescending witch.

The argument subsides. Daylen, Leliana, Wynne, Alistair, Sten, and Barkspawn enter the sloth demon’s domain. I load my bolt, nervous that I have a validate part in this. I glance at the two women beside me. Leliana readies her bow and Morrigan has her wilderness staff in hand. Their focus is straight ahead.

“Oh look. Visitors. I’d entertain you but…too much effort involved.” The demon drags out his greeting. Unlike the desire demon, the sloth demon is in inhabiting a mage’s body. It talks to us as an abomination.

Words are exchanged between both parties. It’s not long until they fall under the slumber spell cast by the demon. They drop to the floor unconscious, like a sack of potatoes.

Sloth has set his hypnotizing stare on us. I pull the trigger weakly, but my bolt completely misses. My surroundings begin to blur and spin around. My grip on my crossbow comes undone. Soon, my body forgets how to stand. I lose my balance to unsteady knees. My eyes close before my face plummets to the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, I’m back from the grave. This chapter… would any of you believe me if I said I had to cut it in half? But then that half got too long AND I HAD TO CUT IT HALF AGAIN?!
> 
> That’s why this sucker took so long. So, chapter eight (or should I say chapter seven part two) will be up soon once I get the kinks sorted. I set myself a deadline for it, but we’ll see. I’m adjusting to new changes right now. It’s stressing me out a bit.
> 
> One of them being: Trying to recover from my embarrassing interview. But it’s done and over with, I won’t hear back until the end of the month. Fingers crossed… lucky rabbit foot and all.
> 
> Thank you roommate for being my beta reader, I’m forever grateful to you.

Gasping air, I wake up in a cold sweat. Short breaths make it difficult to breathe through my nose. I focus on relegating by inhaling calm and deep breaths. My heart pounds against the rib cage from the adrenaline.

A man looms over me, blocking the bright light above. My eyes take a moment to adjust. The man and I share the same facial features: round cheeks, straight nose, and large brown eyes.

“Hey, moo moos,” my father coos.

He flashes a kind smile and waves with his plump fingers, two more traits I get from him. Dad notices my eyes frantically looking around. He shows his concern with a frown. “You okay?”

“I…” I’m stumbling to get words out. “D-Don’t know?”

The nerves in my muscles catch up to my brain. I have a tough time sitting up with my stiff body.

My mind is disoriented, but I recognize my _tia_ ’s living room. It can be mistaken for a daycare with all the toys lying about. I barely can see the floor among the sea of dolls, _Barbie_ cars, and other trinkets. I wake up on her well-loved, lumpy couch.

I don’t remember falling asleep on her sofa. In fact, I can’t recall how I even got _here_.

I brush my fingers against the brown fabric, along the cushion’s imbedded design to bring myself to reality. The rough texture just as I remembered. The furniture placement is exactly the same the last time I visited. But something about this room feels… off. I can’t put my finger on it as to why it is.

Anxiety awakens and grows when looking at the environment. The scenery out the window does nothing to jog my memory. Snow covers the balcony porch, the trees, and the rest of Seattle. The longer I stare at the white snowfall, the stranger it is to me. I feel like it was just spring?

Wait… that’s not right either?

My brain scrambles, but has a recollection of snow. I’ve been in it recently.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Dad takes a seat next to me. Briefly, I forget that I’m not alone in the room. My thoughts retreat to the back of my foggy mind and focus on the present.

“Maybe?”

“You’re okay now.” Dad massages my back with soft circle motions. “I’m sorry you had a bad dream.”

I curl up to his side for a hug, and he welcomes it. He places a kiss on top of my head. My dad has always been the light of my life. His smile is gentle and usually so sincere, my heart warms up whenever I see it. We explore all conversational topics; he’s always enlightening me with unfamiliar subjects (all related to adulting). I often go to him for counsel. We usually talk it over with homemade sweets and coffee.

“What was it about?” Bekah asks.

My young sister strolls in, balancing three plates full of food. Her light brown hair is high in a bun, and a large dish towel is tied around her waist like an apron. Waitress Bekah is on duty; she always had a knack for being one. She knows how to be charismatic, unlike myself. If my life was a sitcom, Bekah would be the character with the witty one-liners and the audience would instantly love her because of her unique charm.

Bekah hands a plate to dad first. I sit up so he can take the dish without risk of spilling food on me. He expresses his gratitude.

My sister nods and then passes a plate to me. I grab it with both hands.

“I can’t remember, but…” I bite the inside of my cheek as I concentrate on the last thing I remember. There was a group of people. We’re going to do… something; the sensation was essential. I try to match my feelings with words. “It was urgent?”

“Probably not if you can’t remember, no point in sweating over it,” Bekah shrugs and bobs her head to the dish in my hand. “Eat, you’ll feel better.”

I look down at my plate, practically drooling at the sight. _Tia’s_ famous brisket stuffed between two slices of challah, and on the side homemade jelly stuff doughnuts and golden brown latkes.  A seasonal dish I eat only during Hanukkah, and one of my favorites.

The seat cushion dip as my sister takes a spot next to me. She grabs the T.V remote and presses the power button on.

Paws patter against the wooden floors, dashing from room to room. The claw scratches are getting louder. Three blurs, my dogs, come running into the living room from the front of the house. The alluring smell of steamy food is what brings them.

Osi, a black chow mix and leader of the pack, sits at my father’s feet.  She tilts her head back slightly, as if saluting to him, and stays in her position. Osi will paw at the sofa to let him know she’s there.

Misty, a brown mutt, sits in front of me and stares with big brown eyes. Her tiny floppy ears fold back and excitably wagging her tail. We’re not too sure what mix she is, but she’s mine. Misty has been my cuddle buddy since the day she was brought home. Thrown on top of my bed, damp from the wet weather that morning (Guess how she got her name.)

The last family dog, Max, is right by Misty’ side and squeezes his beagle face between Bekah and I. He rests his face on the couch, his eyes sway back and forth between us. Max makes his presents known by poking his nose at our thighs.

Damn beagle; he knows he’ cute.

I ignore his begging, and Misty’s, and take a mouthful of the brisket sandwich. My taste buds tingle from the flavorful spices and juicy meat. Instantaneously, I moan.

“I know, right?” Bekah says between chews. “ _Tia’s_ the best cook. Man, the brisket taste like she just made it!”

I don’t argue, and instead take another bite. Misty whines. She’s making sure I don’t forget her presence. I enjoy my meal and my company, as well as the blissful… quietness? The lack of chaos gets me to notice the absence of people who actually live in this house.

My uncle is most likely at work, but where is everyone else?

“Where are the girls?” I ask about my kid cousins.

Bekahs answers with a mouthful of mini doughnuts. “French School, they don’t get out for another couple of hours.”

“And _Tia_?”

“Food shopping, she needed vegetables for tonight’s dinner – dog!” Bekah lifts the plate up from her lap, and out of a certain beagle’s reach. He whines once he realizes he got caught. “We’re having Chinese.”

“What about her dogs?”

“Groomers,” she says factually. She has the answer to everything, as usual.

A ring from my dad’s business cell disrupts the laid back atmosphere. I frown as does my sister when she turns down the T.V.

He answers. “Hello, this is David.” He listens intently to whoever is on the other line, and suddenly my dad is consumed by shock. “Yes… yes. Thank you and you have a good day yourself.” He hangs up and tucks it up into his pocket.

I notice the conversation is cut short. “That didn’t sound like work?”

After a moment or two, my father responses. “That idiot signed the divorce papers. She actually signed them!”

I gasp. “Papa, that’s wonderful news!”

“About fucking time,” Bekah spats bitterly. She isn’t shy voicing any resentment she has about our mother. “Damn manipulative cunt!”

“Only took, what? Like six months?” I chuckle.

“Say it with me now.” Like a maestro, Bekah emphasizes with hand motions. “Manipulative. _Cunt_!”

We share a bitter, and twisted, scene of humor. The way she says it is comical, my chuckles turn into laughter. I almost knock over my plate of food, not that it’ll go to waste. Probably won’t even touch the ground, not with three dogs watching for scraps like hawks.

I nudge my dad. “I honestly think we should throw a party for our handsome, newly single dad.” I don’t stop there. “He’s a family man to his four daughters, and two of them are furry! It’s a great opener for any dating site.”

Bekah practically choke on her food. “Oh no!” She glares and passionately speaks out. “None of that! Dad’s just fine without online help.”

I have an urge to roll my eyes. She’s the only millennial I know that’s against using technology.

“I do feel like celebrating,” Dad interrupts us. “How about... crinkle cookies?”

“Oh my god, yes!” The mention of my favorite cookie has me bouncing in my seat. A jelly doughnut rolls off, and Max is the first one to eat it off the ground. Misty stares intensely at him with her perky ears. He licks his chops.

My father smiles and has his phone out once again. “I’ll text _Tia_ to pick up some semi-sweet chocolate, and I’ll make some tonight.”

I can practically taste the powder sugar goodness!

The excitement dies down, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I lean back into sofa and just let myself sink in. My sister takes the opportunity to talk about music. Half of the artist she names I have never heard before. She and I have different tastes, but I appreciate her passion for it. When Bekah speaks about it, she’s vey in tune with the topic –no pun intended.

We polish our plates sometime during Bekah’s empathic take on Johnny Cash’s song _Ring of Fire_. I zone out most of it as I bask in this relaxing atmosphere and reminisce that things are starting to look up for my dad.

With the divorce finalized, I realize he’ll be able to get a house. Something I know he’s always been wanting, a fixer upper with a yard for the pups. I worry about him and his well-being, and Bekah too, but at the moment all negative emotions I kept bottled up are… non-existant. I feel my stiff muscles unwinding completely. I don’t think I ever been at peace with myself like this.

Reality strikes when I hear Bekah’s laugh. Dad must have told a joke.

He has small pieces of meat left over on his plate. Dad calls them one at a time and each pup got a taste of homemade brisket.

“Spoiled rotten dogs,” Bekah comments as she takes our plates away when she gets up from her seat. The furry mammals follow her to the kitchen. “Max! Get down!” She scolds our beagle. I roll my eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s doing, standing on his hind legs trying to reach the counter.

Dad chuckles, and then sighs with contentment. He leans back into the cushions and entwines his fingers together, rest them on his stomach, lastly, he crosses his angles together. Completely relaxed, Dad pays attention to the T.V.

I follow his example after arching my back like a lazy cat. Stretch the muscles in my arms and then fold them behind me, supporting my head like a pillow would. I let myself blend into the environment, become one with the sounds, the smells, and the material I rested on.

“Hey, wanna go somewhere with me?” Bekah pipes from the kitchen.

I frown at the thought of moving, just as I got comfortable. “Now?”

“Yeah, after I get done with the dishes,” She laughs. “I was just thinking maybe we can go to the beach?”

My eyebrows scrunch together. “The beach? In this weather?”

“Thought it might be fun to walk around, I mean, when was the last time we went to the beach together?”

I search in my memories, and it takes me back years. Around we were both in high school, maybe before.

“You could use the fresh air, munchkin,” she adds on.

I hum a whine, sounding proof of my displeasure. However, I’m reminded of the promise to not be a lazy hermit. I don’t see my family often, and I want to spend time with them as such as possible. I can’t do that if I’m glued to the couch, watching T.V or typing away at my laptop.

With the roll of my eyes, I agree. “Alright, we’ll go.”

Bekah whoops loudly over the running kitchen water. I repeat the cheer back to her, and resume my homeostasis of tranquility. Empty my mind and give in to the peaceful nothingness. It’s not long until I fall victim to a food coma. Slowly, my eyelids grow heavy. The only thing keeping me awake is Misty’s loud snorting as she rubs her body against the sofa. She nudges my legs in the process. I truly believe she was a cat in her past life.

A voice disturbs the serene atmosphere, like a ripple in the water. A voice I don’t expect.

“Oh,” A pregnant pause, “Hi.”

I dart up from the couch, and turn to see a slender girl standing in the dining room. Her brown hair tied back into a low pony tail. Her brown eyes blink rapidly. Though, I don’t blame her puzzled expression, I would be too if I’m wearing an outfit not of this century. She’s dressed in green medieval robe with thick brown stitching.

“Sabrina?” I recognize my roommate. Why is she dressed like that? No that’s not the question I should be asking. “What are you doing here?”

Sabrina smiles until her attention is drawn to the person next to me. I thought she’s looking at my dad, but he’s sitting on my left side… not my right. My eyes follow and notice Bekah occupying a space on the couch. She doesn’t greet her; instead she turns her back completely on Sabrina.

Wasn’t she just in the kitchen?

“She’s visiting.” Bekah clamps her hand on my shoulder. The roughness of it catches me off guard. “She said she would, how could you forget?” Her words calm me.

A hazy memory of Sabrina holding a plane ticket in her hand filled my head. She was beaming, when she surprised me with the news she’d be spending Hanukkah with me. A present from my family, they’re arranged it last minute. However, she still has some business to takes care of. We had to fly separately.

My breathing steadies. “Yeah, of course,” Everything makes sense. I grin, happy to see my best friend. “I’m glad you could make it here. Was the flight okay?”

“Of course, I love taking planes, you know that.” Sabrina regains her smile, though something about it is forced. She must be tired from the flight.

“Right.” I know exactly what will cheer her up. “I also know you love the beach. You came just in time. We were just about to go. You up for it?”

Before she can reply, Bekah interrupts. “Ellen.” Her grip tightens on my shoulder. “Go upstairs and pack up whatever we might need. I want to get to know your… roommate, better.”

“Wait, what about you, Bekah?” I don’t bother to mask my uncertainty. Why she’s not coming with? She’s still in sweats. “Shouldn’t you get ready?”

Bekah flashes her pearly white teeth. “Don’t worry about me.”

There’s something devious about her grin. I’ve known my sister to be mischievous but this type of smile… doesn’t sit right with me. I hesitate to leave her alone with Sabrina. Consumed with my inner thoughts, I’ve missed some of the on-going conversation. Instead of asking to repeat what they say, I play off the embarrassment. I make my way towards the spiraling staircase, there are two actually. One of them leads to the lower part of the house, the basement. The living room acts as a connecter of the two stairs.

“Sure, sure. I’ll be right back!” I rush up the stairs two steps at a time, cursing at my sudden burst of anxiety along the way. Just when thought it finally settled. I’m worrying over nothing, as usual… and again. Maybe a trip to the beach is needed after all.

I enter my cousins’ shared bedroom, where my sister and I are staying. Clothes are scattered everywhere. I gather my skinny jeans, leather jacket, and converse and put them on. I scramble through my sister’s open suitcase for a scarf. I remember Sabrina’s strange outfit and crack a small smile. I love her, but there is no way she’s going to the beach looking like some sea witch. Now that I think about it… I didn’t see my roommate carrying any luggage.

Soon, my name is called out in distress.

Warning bells are going off. “Bri?”

“Everything is fine, moo moos.” Hearing my father’s voice startles me. He appears in front of the doorway. I place a hand over my chest, afraid that my heart would pop out.

“Fuck, papa, you scared me!” Usually, I’m able to hear my dad coming. He’s heavy set, just like me. The house creaks under his feet.

I receive no apology from him, which I find odd. Dad is a kind man, a man who would say anything to ease my discomfort. The longer I stare at him, the more he appears... not himself. He has the same demeanor as a predator. My father leans against the entry frame on his right shoulder, his bad shoulder, with his arms crossed.

A loud screech echoes from downstairs.

“What the hell is going down there?”

“You know how the Bekah is. She likes to mess around.” Dad says coolly. “There’s no need to worry.”

It’s not long until I hear furniture crashing.

“She sounds like she’s destroying the house!” I shove him out of the way, and hurry down the stairs.

Walking upon a violent fight is the last thing I expected. My sister is snarling at a man around my age. He’s dressed in a medieval fashion similar to Sabrina. He has on a slim grey and blue tabard with leather boots and gloves. I come in time to witness the man swiping at Max, trying to bypass him.

Max hits against the wall and collapses on a pile of toys. The beagle comes back with a vengeance, and leaps forward to attack him. The stranger defends himself.

Never have I seen Max be hostile towards anyone.

What disturbs me more is Sabrina being backed against the balcony window door by my two beloved dogs. Osi and Misty bare their fangs at her and continue to inch closer.

“Ellen,” Bekah snarls when she notices my presence. “Go back to Dad.” Each word has a low grumbling echo behind it, almost if she’s speaking directly into a microphone. She blocks the entrance from the stairs. I can’t intervene.

Not that I can, my legs won’t respond. I have yet to recover from my shock of the fight that’s unfolding in front of me. There’s so much wrong going on that it’s hard to focus, and I feel the stress building up.

"Ellen?" Our eyes meet, briefly, before stranger’s attention is back on his attacker. The man struggles to dodge Max’s lunges. He responds with hand motions, like some odd interpretive dance with his staff. He doesn’t physically touch my dog, but Max howls in pains. He collapses to the floor. It’s barely a whisper when I tried to call out to my pup. He doesn’t seem to be moving.

"No! Ellen don't.” The stranger in robes snaps me out of my thought. Irritation feeds my stress. This man has the nerve to hurt my dog. “Don't listen to that demon!" And now insulting my sister? Who the fuck does he think he is?!

"Ellen!" Sabrina cries. I immediately shift my focus. "This is a dream. I-! I think it's centered on you!"

Dream?

Osi and Misty aggressively bark. Sabrina cornered herself completely, her back hit the glass. I don’t have time to process what she means as my dogs take the opportunity to attack her. I want to scream, but my voice is lost.

A trailing shadow grabs hold of Sabrina, embracing her shoulders, and she phases through the window. In the same moment, the stranger twirls the staff and my dogs freeze in place, suspending in midair.

Anger is immediately replaced with fear. I yell for her as Sabrina is being dragged, and I watch her fall off the balcony.

“SARBINA!!”

Releasing my emotions, I notice a shift in… reality?

There’s no ways to describe it. The space around me flickered to a completely different environment. The living room briefly was a deserted rocky place cast by green, ominous, fog. In place of Bekah is a purple creature with horns and a long tail. My dogs were no longer furry mammals, but beings molded from lava and imprisoned by ice.

It disorientating until I remember Sabrina’s fall.

I joust my sister out of the way and run towards the glass doors. I open them, even though moments ago Sabrina passed through the doors like a ghost. Leaning forward, over the wooden railing of the balcony, I pray that she’s fine. I expect a fenced in grassy backyard, not tides waves. The scenery in front of me changed drastically. The neighbor has disappeared and in its stead is a vast ocean. The overcast sky is daubed all shades of greys, and the clouds travel in the direction of the winds. Where are the houses? Where is Sabrina?

None of this makes any sense.

Dream, Sabrina said this was a dream.

My brain tries taking the syllables apart to understand it, but it’s providing to be difficult. As if trying to translate particular word to a language that doesn’t have it. I know it, but how can I explain without losing its meaning?

“I’m dreaming?” The words roll off my tongue oddly. “I can’t be…”

And yet I believe it. The moment she mentioned it, a nagging feeling rose from the pit of my stomach. Sabrina’s telling me the truth. However, the other part of me deems it ludicrous. Despite the evidence right in front of me, everything that’s happening is considered normal.

Someone calls from inside the house. My attention returns to the forgotten warzone. I brush the curls out of my face. The stranger has my Bekah in a lock, her back against his chest and her hand on the staff that prevents her from escaping. She growls and tussles to get out of his grasp. Osi and Misty are able to move again, they have their backs towards me. My dogs growl but don’t approach him, not while Bekah is being held hostage.

“Ellen,” he snaps me out of my wrecking thoughts. “This is a dream, just as she said. What is the last thing you remember? Think very carefully!”

I don’t. My irritation resurfaces with vengeance. “Let go of my sister!”

“This is not your sister,” the man shouts. “We are in the Fade, in the Sloth demon’s domain.”

I blink.

Fade? As in _Dragon Age_ Fade?

Before the stranger can explains farther, Bekah flips him forward. He lands on his back, groaning in pain. My sister snarls as she bends down to his level. She clutches onto his blue clothing, lifts him with gorilla strength, and throws him across the living room. His body clashes with the T.V on the wall. Sparks come out of the cracks as it breaks off. I scream when the T.V falls on top of the man’s legs.

A pool of fiery liquid appears next to Bekah. A figure rises. The coat of lava melts off as it surfaces. My father emerges with a smile on his face.

“Ellen, come back inside.” Dad reaches out his hand, Osi and Misty follow his gesture, their yellow tinted eyes staring at me. He’s ignoring the violence completely, not even to steal a glance. “You’ll freeze to death out there.” His tone is the same as a doting father, but there’s an eerie echo behind it.

I start to shiver, hard to tell if it’s due to the cold weather or the shift in his voice.

“He’s right. It’s much warmer in here.” Bekah fixes her messy bun, and unties the dishtowel apron. “Hey, why don’t you and dad go down to the village and get some coffee?” She deviously smirks while cocking her head to the side. “I’ll take care of this guy.”

I walk back inside with caution. The living room is a disaster, as if a tornado had come through. The coffee table is flipped over, claw marks on the family sofa, and feathers from the throw pillows are scattered everywhere as well as the ruined toys.

“You’re safe now, moo moos.” Dad shows a toothy grin, but there is something fake about it. “Come on.”

My eyes linger on the unknown injured man. I’m drawn to his grey and blue outfit, to his small chest plate specifically. It bears a two headed griffin with its wings spiraling out like halo, a symbol of the Grey Wardens.

More _Dragon Age_ , ugh, it really has taken over my life. It is just as bad when I was obsessed over _Oblivion_ , dreaming about closing oblivion gates for three days—

Something clicks.

Memories flood my head, only bits and pieces, but it’s enough that I’m dreaming. That man is Daylen and he’s telling the truth. We’re in the Fade. In fact, I’m the one who warned him.

“No…”

All eyes snap in my direction.

Slowly, I step away from my family.

“I’m sorry?” Bekah narrows her eyes. “What did you say?”

Louder, and with much more confidence I repeat. “I said: NO!”

And in that moment, the people in front of me morphed into demonic creatures. Rage demons have me surrounded, and a desire demon appears in place of my sister. She doesn’t look too happy.

“Ah…” I let out a long groan as soon I realize my predicament. “Shit.”

The desire demon sneers. “A small alteration, I will handle the woman. Finish the mage.”

Shit… shit, shit, SHIT!

Things, I need things to defend myself. Knives, pans, all can be found in the kitchen. I make a dash for it. With the demon close on my tail I grab a knife near the stove. I don’t hesitate to throw it at her the moment turns around the corner to enter the kitchen.

The desire temptress dodges effortlessly, and keeps dodging whatever I throw at her. In return, she throws a dark purple fireball at me. I take cover behind a counter. However the longer I stay hiding in my spot, the fewer things I have to throw. All that’s left is a lighter.

I frown. It won’t do me much good. Not unless I have a Molotov cocktail or maybe…

Hair spray!

I remember seeing a can in the basement’s bathroom.

“Why resist?” She speaks, her voice amplified as an echo. “This is what you desire, to live a life of peace and comfort.” The demon’s words tug along my heart strings. “A longing to be with your family… all can be provided for the rest of your days without a fight.”

I peek from the edge of the counter. She blocks my way directly to the stairs. What’s good about this house, all the rooms are connected. I bolt to the open entrance of the dining room, and she pursues. In one big circle, I’m back in the living room use the same spiraling stars to go down. The pressure of the demon following close behind makes me run faster.

Dear fuck, do I HATE being chased!

Through a tiny hallway in the basement garage is a separate living unit. I slam open the bathroom door and scramble to get to the shelf hiding behind it. It’s stocked with cleaning supplies and left over hygiene products; my _tia_ keeps anything chemical in here. A large nameless brand tin can catches my eye.

In one swift motion, I grab it and turn just in time to see the desire demon entering the hallway. Almost too narrow to fit one person, let alone two, I won’t be able to get past her. I’ve trapped myself. A growl comes from dep in her throat as she inches closer to me. Her ominous yellow eyes gleam. My knees buck together and my hands rattle from fear. The adrenaline builds.

We have some distance between us, and she’s closing the gap quickly.

“You are in my domain, human, there is no escape.”

I place the lighter in front of me, roll back the trigger, and the lighter ignites a small flame. She’s hypnotized by the dancing string of orange and blue light. A smirk follows after seeing how small the flame is.

“A small fire cannot harm me. Your magic is weak.”

“Magic?” Surprisingly, I talk without sounding shaky. “Who the fuck said this is magic? This may be your domain, demon, but this is conjured from my mind, _my reality_.” I become braver. “And in my reality, there’s this little thing called laws of physics. All have to follow it.”

I pop the top off the can and aim it towards the desire demon.  Her eyes squint, deciphering the object I have in my other hand.

“It’s science, bitch!” I press the spraying tip and unleash my homemade flamethrower. The demoness hisses as she covers her eyes with both hands. Small sizzling steam is escaping from the cracks of her fingers.  The temporary blindness causes her to retreat. The moment I see my opening, I sprint out of the basement.

I slam the door shut behind me and lock it for good measure. It may not do much, but it’s an obstacle for her and that counts for something.

Havoc is coming from the living room above. I don’t hesitate climbing the stairs to see the commotion. Daylen is crouched in a corner, out of breath from exhaustion. The mage leans on his staff just as his knees buck together. His robe is partially burnt. I’ve come in time to see the last rage demon sinking into the floor, letting out a sharp cry.

As I rush towards Daylen, a smoking apparition appears. A familiar purple figure emerges from the mist with a glare daggers.

“Shit, you can do that.” I mumble.

The demoness waves her hand, and a sudden force presses my arms and legs together. With another wave, I’m thrown into the kitchen. My back hits the tile floors. I don’t suppress the painful groan erupting from my throat.

I cough. “Fuck…”

“You will be dealt with after the mage,” she hisses.

The desire demon hovers away from my line of sight. I officially lose track of her when I turn my head. “Daylen!” My eyes shut from the pounding ache in the back of my head. Daylen is in no condition to defend himself from the demon. If I don’t do something, he’s going to die.

Overwhelmed with pain, I can hardly move.

_God damn it, Ellen, suck it up._ **Save** _him!_

With sheer willpower, I sit up. My muscles are howling at me to rest. The adrenaline once again kicks into overdrive and numbs all my nerves. Thoughts become narrower, more clouded, I can only process one thing at a time. I crawl to the edge of the kitchen with all the sharp objects, objects I’ve thrown at the demon earlier. A butcher knife is in my hand.

I dip my head into the living room. The desire demon has her lanky fingers around Daylen’s neck. The Grey Warden mage claws at her choke hold, but she’s unaffected with his attempts. His hands glow an icy white and grab hold of her wrist. She hisses from the hurt and angered her. She slams his back to the wall and lifts him high enough that his feet dangle. Daylen doesn’t break his concentration or loosens his grip. 

I stand up and the rest… is a blur.

Her screech has come back to my senses. I’m face with a bloody back of a demon and the knife I’m holding is covered in unnaturally colored blood. Blood that matches what’s seeping out of the demon’s wound. The desire demon drops Daylen and directs her snarls at me, her eyes heated with fury.

“If you so wish to die first. I shall grant it!”

And she lunges. I scream. On reflex I shut my eyes, but impact never comes. After a moment or so, I peek at my assailant. The demoness is at a standstill. Our faces are inches apart. Her rage dissolves into dismay, her mouth gasping open for air. She retreats, very slowly, and then angles her head to look down.

Between the valley of her breast is my kitchen knife. Trembling fingers grab the handle, but she doesn’t have the strength to pull it out herself. The demoness clicks her tongue. “I could have… fulfilled every desire… you ever asked. You could have… been happy.” She drops to her knees, I stumble backwards. Just as like the rage demon, she too melts into the ground in black vapor.

With the last demon vanquished, I collapse. My lungs are desperate for air.

Daylen coughs. “Ellen?”

“I just—” My body trembles. “I just stabbed someone… I’ve never stabbed anything in my life!” I shout hysterically. “EVER!”

Tears pour down. I cover my mouth to quiet my sobs.

Why feel guilt now? I’ve killed a shade and a few darkspawn since arriving in Thedas. But until now, I realize there’s an emotional detachment when attacking from a distance. In my mind, it’s been the crossbow preforming the killings. It’s an instrument, all I do is point and pull the trigger, and it does the rest for me.

But this close contact killing is too personal… too real for me to cope.

The knife is a tool, an enhancement for me to carry out my actions. I’ve taken a life with my bare hands. It doesn’t matter if it was justified.

“Oh god, oh fucking fuck—!”

“You did what you had to do, Ellen.”

Daylen crawls towards me and embraces me. I don’t push him away because I desperately in need of a hug. I sob into his shoulder as I wrap my arms around his waist tightly. The mage flinches, but doesn’t complain. He strokes my back until I’ve calm down.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I muffled.

He pulls away wearing a gentle smile. “Don’t dwell. You’re not the only victim that has fallen to this madness.” Daylen wipes away the remaining tears on my cheeks. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“You’re hurt.” I hiccup.

“I’ll heal. Fear not.”

Just as I apologize again, the environment begins to morph into a green dusty wasteland. In sight for miles are boulders, large and small. A hazy mist surrounding us spirals with the natural looking clouds above our head. I truly feel that I’ve been transported to another world. Gravity is a concept in this realm as I see rumbles of rock suspended in midair with ire stillness. High in the sky is a large floating island. In the center is a ruin with twisted spires and over casted by a dark shadow, the infamous Black City.

Take deep breaths I tell myself.

“Is… that really the Black City? It could be called Nightmare City because yikes.” That shit looks _creepy_.

I fear I might have offended the realm itself as my form becomes transparent. Soon, I start to completely disappear. My feet are the first to go.

Panic rises as I witness my lower half fading at a rapid pace. “Daylen?!”

“You’re fine, you’re just—”

Daylen is gone; I’m blinded by pitch black darkness. With a blink of an eye, my scenery changes, but I’m still in the Fade. I’m surrounded by familiar rocks and green dusty fog. I appear on a circular plane, closed off by giant boulders, a Fade version of a Roman coliseum. I’m back in my raggedy tunic, itchy pants, and beat up black converses. The crossbow is in my hand.

I’m not the only one trapped in this dimension. Everyone who fell under the sloth demon’s spell is here. Sten and Morrigan are lean against the wall, wearing scowls. Alistair is pacing back and forth. Leliana surveys the area. Barkspawn announces my presence with a loud bark and gallops towards me. He slobbers my hand in kisses. Grossed out, yes, I still bend down and hug the war hound. Barkspawn nuzzles me in return.

I know my dogs were rage demons in disguise, but when I saw Max perish…

My nostrils flare when I take a sharp short breath. I hold back the water works in fear if I start to cry now I’ll never stop. My mind reflects on my feelings towards the demoness’ death; she was disguised as my sister. The thought of hurting my family, any of them…

But they’re fine, _they’re safe_. My dogs, my dad, and Bekah are in California, _far_ away from this crazy, magic, demon nonsense.

“We do it to ourselves. The demons know this.” Wynne interrupts my chain of thought when approaching me. “They set the stage, so to speak, and fill it with our own dreams and nightmares. It is difficult to deny your true thoughts, as it might lead to madness. We close ourselves off purposely from realism because we fear the untenable elements, and in doing so, we’ve become prisoners to our version of reality.”

“It was… so easy to slip back into denial.” I lift myself from the ground to look at her. “I was back at home, surrounded by everything that made me happy.” I desperately miss my world; so much that I settled for a cheap imitation.

The sooner we kill this fucking sloth demon, the sooner I can get back on track in finding a way back home.

A swirling vortex materializes in the middle of the plane, and out comes Daylen. He appears in much better shape, standing taller with no wounds present. However, his robes are still tattered. “Good to see everyone has gathered.”

We flock towards him. It’s tough to say how long we stand in silence before someone says anything. The concept of time in the Fade is… lagging. A few minutes have past, but my estimation is going based off feeling. And even that’s a bit iffy. My sense is a compass, and it’s surrounded by magnets. The needle doesn’t know which way it point.

 “It will not take the demon long to realize we’ve come to our senses, no longer under his influence,” Daylen says. The tension grows within our circle. “Sloth demons are masters of disguise, be on guard for anything.”

“Multiple stage fight,” I blurt out. I receive confused glances in return. It discourages me to say anymore.

“If you know anything else about the creature, Ellen, now is the time to say.” Daylen nods.

“You’re right, he… he has multiple forms. Each one worse than the next, and… his first one is going to be a bitch to take down.”

This intrigues the Grey Warden mage. His eyebrows are knit together. “And what does the first form entail?”

The timing can’t be any more perfect.

In a pull of green and black vapor, the sloth demon rises from the ground. He greets us as an ogre, an eight foot creature of mass destruction. Large horns twist out of its skull like flowing hair. As if the height and horns aren’t terrifying enough, his tiny beady eyes, razor sharp teeth, and greyish skin boost the scary factor. They are the tanks of darkspawn. Using sheer brute force, they can clear an army with ease.

Pointing my index finger, I say, “That.”

For the first time I hear Alistair curse. Daylen becomes as grim as the blonde next to him.

The ogre roars and pounds his fists against his chest.

“Alistair,” Daylen calls out. “Just like before, aim for the knees. Sten, you join him as will I. It is vital to keep its attention. The remainder of you, attack from range. Do what you can to stay distant!”

The massive demon charges, the ground underneath quakes. We scatter, except Daylen.  Tossing his staff to the side, white mist surrounds him. The man grows in size and his skin turns dark and crackles, like dirt, soon shapes into a being of stone. In place of Daylen is a golem to take the impact of the damage. He may not be as tall or bulky as the enemy, but he’s keeping it in place.

Crazy son of bitch, he could’ve gotten himself killed!

… Suddenly, I understand Wynne’s feelings.

“Barkspawn, stay by Ellen’s side!” says the golem. The pitch is lower but that is Daylen’s voice. The mabari responds with a bark and grabs hold of my sleeve with his teeth. He tugs--no yanks--me away from the ogre. I follow, only to avoid my arm getting ripped off. Everyone else runs into place. Sten and Alistair stay nearby as instructed. Wynne, Morrigan, and Leliana circle the demon, staying at a fair enough distance to attack with arrows and magic. I load my bow with a bolt as I watch the fight unfold.

Barkspawn is acting as my shield. Insist that I stay behind him as mabari is always one step in front of me.

Morrigan and Wynne are casting the same type of arcane magic. A swirling white mist lingers in the air from their summoning. However, they don’t use it in the same way. Wynne forms a light prison around the sloth demon, constricting his movements. A trail of energy seeps out of the demon and heads for Morrigan, as if she’s draining his power.

The ogre’s pounding fists break the barrier of light, cracking until it shatters completely. Golem Daylen circles behind the beast and restrain his arms. He thrashes and Sten and Alistair tactfully step away and return from a different angle. Leliana aims with her arrows at its knees and calves. I only get a few shots in before the ogre is vanquished.

The sloth demon roars and his form is engulfed by the same black and green vapors. Once the smoke clears, it takes shape of an oversized rage demon.

So far, the demon is switching forms in the same order as in the game. Good, this is good!

“Ice!” I scream. “We need ice, that’s the fastest way to take this form down!”

It’s a miracle Daylen heard me. He reverts to human and quickly distances himself from the enemy. With simple hand motions, he’s covered in an icy mist. The same mist appears around my bow, as well as Sten, Alistair and Leliana’s weapons. My quiver is puffing smoke out like a chimney.

 The redheaded bard doesn’t hesitate to draw back her bow. Her arrow flies and leaves a trail of ice vapor in its wake. On impact, the arrow breaks into a small shards and ice explodes.

Sten and Alistair clash their weapons against the lava swiftly. Each slash leaves thin ice around the fresh wound. The fighters continue cutting the demon down; I follow Leilana’s example and shoot my bolt near its hunched back. However, I keep missing.

My irritation grows with every missed shot. If I have to point out my biggest flaw as a human being, it would be my temper. The pressure stacks and my irritations blooms into boiling anger. That seems to get to the demon’s attention. The goopy yellow eyes turn in my direction.

I hear a fire crackle, so loud I flinch. It’s as if I’m standing next to a box of fireworks.

Someone shouts my name. The next thing I see is a fire ball is hurling at me. Barkspawn tackles me to the ground. I don’t have time to register the pain as the war hound is back on his feet and tugging at my tunic with his sharp teeth. Another fire ball is coming.

I take off in a sprint. They come one after another. Alistair swoops in and tucks me to his side and provides coverage with his shield. The blonde warden angles his shield downward, directing the fire to the ground.

Breathless, I say, “Thanks.”

Alistair is always coming to my rescue.

He’s more concerned with the fight, and honestly so am I. “We have to keep hitting it with ice. That’s the only ways to take out his form,” I inform Alistair, not sure if telling him will accomplish anything.

“If you haven’t noticed, that’s what we’ve been doing.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know!”

Strategies have never been my forte. I charge right in and hope for the best, make up thing as I go when the moment is happening. Not the smartest of tactics, especially right now.

I observe the battle. The demon’s lower half is frozen solid. Sten charges and swings his broad sword in a tornado-like whirl. He lands a strike on the lava flesh. The clash of hot and cold results in steam; it rises from the wound.  Leliana takes Alistair’s place in the front line. Draggers in each hand, smoked in the icy mist.

She doesn’t give sloth demon enough time to recover from the Qunari’s assault. She rapidly slashes the torso area and immediately puts distance between them.

Wynne and Morrigan advance as well, however Wynne is the only one casting. Morrigan stands abnormally still until the Fade’s smog begins to wrap around her body. It becomes thicker and thicker, barely can I see anything behind it. It expands and then dissolves back into its surroundings, slowly revealing an enormous black bear with bright amber eyes.

With one hand, Daylen concentrates on directing his ice magic at Morrigan. Frost forms at the edge of her fur. Sten steps aside as Morrigan attacks and swipes her enchanted bear claws. The demon can’t avoid it as it’s still frozen to the ground, but not for long. The magic under its feet is cracking.

“We have to keep the feet frozen.” A plan begins to formulate in my brain. It might just work. “If we can keep the feet frozen, keep it in place, we can take it down and then his abomination form. Well, unless he transforms into a shade.” I ramble on. “Either way, it shouldn’t be problem. Melee will take care of him so as long as he doesn’t move.”

Alistair glances at me as if I’ve gone mad. “I’m sorry? Did you say abomination form?”

Too absorb with my thought, I don’t respond. “DAYLEN! Keep icing his feet. Keep him immobilized! His other two forms won’t be able to do much of anything!” With the commotion, I fear he may not have heard me. “You need to get back in there and do some damage.” I instruct Alistair. “Brute force is quickest way to take down those next two forms, warn them what they are.”

“Right…” The Templar warden is still bewildered, like I’m some kind of alien. “How is it you know all this?”

“Now is really not the best time, Alistair, but please you got to trust me on this,” I plead. “This is matter of life of death here!” I know being overly dramatic, but I can’t stress this enough.

“Still think it’s crazy,” he mumbles before returning to his comrades.  As he approaches, Leliana pulls away from the fight and switches to mid-range attacks. In one foul swoop, she sheaths her daggers and switches to her bow. Alistair relays the message to the team, but points at me and then at the demon. Daylen responds with a nod.

The mabari begins to pace, followed by a whine; watching the fight is getting him antsy. Wrinkles form at the bridge of his nose. His lips rise in a snarl and his nostrils flare out when the demon tries to takes a swing at Daylen. I notice how sluggish the demon appears, that form won’t last for much longer.

“Keep the legs frozen!” I repeat myself.

The combined magic from Daylen and Wynne finishes the rage demon. He’s engulfed in mystic light, but it turns to black quickly after. An abomination appears in his place; a restrained abomination. Daylen did hear me before, the demon’s bottom half is iced to the ground.    

“Focus on melee! That form and his shade form after that can’t handle brute force!”

The demon isn’t given enough time to break in his new form. Everyone is jumping at him. Morrigan’s bear teeth chomp down on one of the lanky arms. Simultaneously, the warriors stab the abomination. Alistair’s sword makes direct contact with his head, while Sten targeted the heart through the back.

I pump my fist in the air. “Yes!”

The abomination form explodes, but everyone was unprepared how powerful the impact is. The pulse of the heat wave sends the fighters catapulting in the air. Born from the explosion is the sloth’s demon newest form, a shade, and free from the clutches of its ice prison.

“Fuck…”

And he’s fast, faster than I’m used to in game. The shade bolts in my direction, zigging and zagging across the field.

 _Run_.

I do, like a bat out of hell. I run as far as this closed in space will take me. A hand with long-limbed fingers is pressed against my back, and a forceful push.

A high-pitch scream escapes me when I see the demon hovering over me. “Oh shit!”

He has me pin to the ground. Overwhelm by fear, tears roll down my cheeks. I struggle to break away from his grasp. The muscles in my arms and legs tremble.

“You…” The demon lowers his head. His one glowing eye blinds me. “Have said enough, woman.” A growl vents from his throat. “Be gone with you!”

My vision fades to black; A jolt of adrenaline forces me to open my eyes. Panting and covered in hard cold sweat, my joints are stiff. I try to recollect my memories from my scrambled mind. Little that does as my brain is focusing on my lungs, telling them to catch my breath. Next comes the soreness of my calves and thighs. I realize I’m sitting incorrectly on my knees.

I scared myself into an upright position, and possibly screamed myself awake. The back of my throat is scratchy and sore, completely different from allergies.

Arms, I dreamt of arms reaching out to me and a sinister purple glow. The memories are coming to me, but I’m fuzzy on the details.

Silence fills the air in the circular room. The sense of familiarity calms me, but only slightly. I take notice of the laying bodies next to me, recognizing each one of them. They’re in a deep sleep, but they can be mistaken for being dead with how still they are. I shake the people closest to me.

“Leli…” My voice barely audible, almost horse like. “Leliana?”

The bard doesn’t budge, not even a stir.

“M-Morrigan?” The swamp witch doesn’t respond either. Paranoid sets in and I double check she’s alive. I search for a pulse on her neck. It’s steady, but slow.

There is one body in the room that’s not lying down. The sloth demon is sleeping standing up, or I assume he is with his eyes still open. He’s motionless as a statue, shoulders slumped and neck no longer supporting his head. It dangles to the side and his gaze is towards the ground.

Like a crashing tidal wave, I suddenly remember why I’m here and what has happened.

I was in the Fade, and the sloth demon kicked me out.

Overall, this is good. I’m out, but… now what? Wait around until they wake up? I’m on a floor full possessed Templars and abominations. I can hardly protect myself, let alone protect the sleeping people and myself at the same time.

_If we fall victim to its casting slumber, the spell won’t last long._

That’s what Daylen had said? Kill the demon and the spell will be broken.

That’s how it was done before, in game, but my Warden beat the demon from inside the Fade, not out. Then… should I wait around until they wake up?

My paranoid mind reminds me that I’ve altered things just being here. There might be a chance they won’t wake up. Goosebumps crawl along my arms up as I hear loud moaning echoing in the halls. The longer I stare at Morrigan and Leliana, the more convinced I am they’re getting paler.

No. I have to kill him. I’ve killed one demon already…

I shiver at the thought when leaning forward. The crossbow is barely in reach, I touch it with my fingers. Dark, guilty thoughts cloud my mind.

“No, it’s has to be done. You have to…” If I don’t, Daylen will die, and then there’s nothing stopping the Blight from spreading. I won’t live to see it because the sloth demon would come for me the moment he’s done with everyone.

I swallow the nervous spit and finally grab my weapon. I cock the string back and load a fallen bolt into the groove of the bow. I can shoot it from here… but if I miss from this distance, it might wake up. This _has_ to be a one shot K.O. and that means I need to be closer, much closer for it to be a guarantee.

A groan escapes when my brain tries to reconnect with the nerves in my legs, forcing them to lift my body off the ground. I grab my crossbow before completely standing up. Not enough blood circulates through my lower half, I feel as if I’m stepping on pins and needles.

My feet collide with Sten’s claymore. I hiss to prevent from cursing out loud. The sloth demon hasn’t moved. An exhale of relief through the nose calms me.

The Qunari’s large sword gleams under the torch light. The small reflection shows my state of appearance, and I am a MESS. My hair is no longer in a braid. The curls are untamed and frizzy from the lack grooming. Hello eighties? Yes, I would like return the hair style back to your decade. Urgh, and my eyes! The noticeable dark bags underneath gives away how little I’ve been sleeping. I can see my oily skin glistening.

 _Ellen_ , you have more stressful matters to deal with than fixing your appearance. For example, killing the demon, that is RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!

I continue approaching the sleeping abomination. The closer I get, the more nervous and furious I become. I’m caught between ‘I hope he doesn’t wake up’ to ‘I want him to witness my vengeful fury’. There is some fault on my part, I’ll admit. I painted my illusion of happiness. But this fucker provided the canvas and watched me for his own amusement while absorbing my life energy – or whatever demons do to feed on their victims.

Lining up my shot at his forehead, I hesitate to shoot. This is it. I’m really going to take another life?

“You have to,” I remind myself as a tear rolls down my cheek. Once again the guilt blooming inside me swells along with anger, anxiety; the stress is getting too much for my mind to handle.

I swallow my emotions down as I steady my aim.

_Do it!_

The trigger is pulled.

I flinch at the recoil of the shot and at the sight. The bolt goes deep in his skull, trails of black blood stream down his face. The demon leans back like a timbering tree and tumbles hard to the ground.

“Fuck you,” I spit. I hope there’s a hell where you’re going.

Everyone doesn’t wake up right away like I hoped. Did I make the wrong decision?

“No… no, no, no, come on guys.” I rush towards Daylen, the nearest person, to check on his wellbeing. My fingers don’t feel a pulse. “Daylen?!” I shake him awake.

My worries die down when a groan from him. He attempts to opens his eyes, but shuts them again. A large frown and crease lines appear on his forehead, a face I make when I’m suffering from a migraine. He mumbles that it hurts to have his eyes open. It is possible to get a hangover from a demon’s spell?

For the first time since I’ve woken up, I smile. “Thank fucking god, you’re alive.”

“And so are you it appears.” Daylen says with a dry throat. “The demon hovered over you, and… you were gone completely. We feared the demon might have absorbed your essence.”

“You… thought I was dead?” He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “I- I woke up. The demon kicked me out of the Fade.” Not that needed any clarification, as he can see that I did. Daylen asks about the amulet. I grab hold of the necklace and take it out of my tunic. The pretty jewel is cracked. It could’ve happen when I fell, or when I was wrestling with the previous desire demon. “I’m so sorry.”

Daylen frown grows at the damage state. “That would explain why you’ve fallen under the sloth demon’s spell.”

He eyes follow to the creature mentioned and examines his state. “Did you—?”

His sentence trails off. I take a guess of what he wants to ask. “Did I kill it? Yeah, um, I shot it right in the head.”

Barkspawn, the first to recover, approaches the demon. His massive snout sniffs at the lifeless body. The scene of decaying flesh isn’t appealing to the mabari and he lets out a large distasteful sneeze. He paws at him, but doesn’t let his claws contact the rotten skin. Barkspawn confirms the sloth demon is dead, but he growls and barks excessively.

Daylen unravels his tight expression with a look of realization. “Barkspawn, Move away, quickly!”

The sudden alertness has me on edge. Why is he so worried?

Cullen’s fight… after he defeated one, it combusted—

“Shit.” I curse.

I didn’t think this through!

A pulsation revived through the air, and then a vibrating hum from Daylen, as if standing next to a bass at the club. A white pixie dust appears around Daylen’s hands, and he extends his hand in front of him.  A force field expands with a blink of an eye in front of the abomination.

The dead body detonates, and the transparent shield averts the explosion in our direction.

Daylen moans, the spell exhausted him. I cushion his fall by guiding him to lean toward me. My arms around his shoulder secure him.

I choke. “Oh my flying fuck, I almost got us killed!”

He chuckles. Actually, it’s more like huffing out air. “I rather take ‘almost’ than ‘are.’ We surely would have perished, if you hadn’t done what you did. One of his forms… was that of an arcane horror.”

Oh, I remember that one, worse form out of all of them. Firs time playing through, damn thing kept spamming a powerful blizzard spell. I got real creative with my cussing.

“I’m… familiar.” My face grows sour at the thought.

“Thank you, none the less.” Daylen leans back to show me his grateful smile. I begin to take note some of his features I never notice. His noise is large for his face, and his eyes are a greyish blue, nothing at all like Marians Hawke, his cousin. Daylen’s high cheek bones are well defined.

I flush at the attraction I have for him. He’s handsome, but not enough to feel passionate or lustful. No, this feeling is more amicable. Admiration? He is the hero to stop the Blight after all.

“I try.” I show him the same curtesy.  

The warm-fuzzy moment is interrupted.

“How long have we been asleep?”

Wynne’s question breaks our staring contest. I see her sitting up cradling her forehead with her hand. The explosion wakes up everyone completely, alert and examining their surroundings.

“A few hours, according to Niall,” Daylen diligently answers. “His body should be here.”

Wynne doesn’t miss a beat. “Niall is dead?”

Daylen turns grim. “The demon had drained too much from him… His soul is too weak to part from the Fade. Niall sought me out to tell me the litany is hidden within his robes. Ellen… if you could,” He points to a pile of corpses. “Gather the scroll and we can be on our way.”

Wynne straighten her posture when hears my name. Her wide eyes stare in my direction.

I smile at her. She watches me leave Daylen’s side. I investigate the dead bodies, freshly burnt bodies from the crossfire of the explosion. My nose scrunches from the terrible stench. I can’t remember much of who Niall is or what he look like. He had dark hair, light skin, and wearing dark color robes? Honestly, I was much more concentration on his voice. (Because who isn’t attracted to Liam O’Brien voice? Let’s be real.)

I find a corpse fitting the description I have. I frown and take a deep breath. How many more moral do I have to break today? First killing, now I’m searching a corpse? From my view is violating them!

“Just… just do it. Do it now and you’re done.”

I bend down to the person and pat down where the pockets should be before digging into them. I pull out a small tube, and inside is an undamaged scroll. Count the stars above I found it on my first try.

Everyone else is standing on their feet. Morrigan brushes the dust from her tattered blouse and straightened her bone jewelry. Leliana picks up her arrows that fallen out of her quiver when she fell, as well as my bolts.  She manages to pick up the staff belonging to Morrigan. The swamp witch doesn’t leer. In fact, she’s indifferent while taking back her weapon. She nods. Leliana lends her assistance to Wynne as well.

Alistair lets out a yawn and pops the muscles in his neck. “I can’t say I remember much, but I can say with certainty I don’t want to experience that again.”

Wynne scoffs. “Then be thankful you weren’t born a mage.”

The stoic Qunari grumbles while retrieving his two handed sword. I return to Daylen, who is strapping his staff to his back.

“Is this it?” I hand the tube to him.

He uncorks it and unrolls the tiny parchment. Daylen eyes read cross the words. “Yes,” He read it once more. “Yes, this is the litany.”

Wynne appears in Daylen’s shadow. Before I can say a word, she embraces me. One by one, heads turn our way.

“I cannot take my eyes off you for a moment,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Not knowing what else to say for comfort, I hug back tighter. “I wasn’t trying to be reckless, honestly.”

“Empty promises, my dear,” Wynne jest before pulling back.

All eyes are on me as we gather into a conversation circle, especially Daylen’s.

I finally ask, “What?”

“You were right on both counts. The sloth demon put us to sleep. You also knew the specifics to counteract the multiple forms against us.”

I sway my head. “I’m going to guess that’s why I was kicked out in the first place. I knew too much.”

“Your instructions were most helpful, and so I ask is there anything else we should know before proceeding?”

“It doesn’t take a seer to tell you that from here on out it’s nothing but abominations.” I cross my arm as recall my play-through. “…and baby dragons.”

“Dragonlings? In the tower?” Alistair’s lips become thin and he shakes his head. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.” Sten’s stoic demeanor loosens at the mention of dragons, but reluctant to believe me.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Actually, I’m really hoping I’m wrong on that one.”

“You’re surrounded by demons and abominations, but dragons exceed you?” Wynne questions my priorities.

“Abomination and demons, I can understand. Because magic. But dragons? Having them here doesn’t make sense, they don’t need to be!”

The elder woman hums. “You have something in common with the dragons it seems.”

My mouth drops at the calmly delivered roast. Morrigan is amused by the banter.

 

* * *

 

The last room leading to the harrowing chambers is probably the most gruesome room we’ve come across. Fade flesh, as I’m starting to call it, are coming out of the wall cracks like mold. A giant foul smelling and glistening blob is planted in the corner of the room, grown to be as big as an elephant. Spikes, swords, and shields are mounted on the surface.

“It’s a Templar!” Wynne’s gasp cuts the silence. “And he…he’s still alive.”

By the stairs is a man in a Templar uniform, trapped in a prison of light. He’s covered in dried blood and surrounded by his fallen brethren. The man is on his knees with his head hanging low and his hands grasp together in prayer.

A chill travels down my spine. “Cullen?”

“Watch it, now,” Alistair warns as he holds me back. “Could be another trap, and I’m not falling asleep again!”

“There is no trap, Alistair.” Wynne scolds. “We must help him.”

I agree with her as I slip of out the Grey Warden’s grasp and rush towards the barrier. “Cullen!” I drop to my knees and lay my crossbow to the side.

He lifts his head when he whispers my name. However, when he sees me, his droopy-bagged eyes become frantic and his nostrils flare out. “This trick again?!” He raises his voice. “I know what you are! It won’t work!” Cullen lowers his head again and prays. “I will stay strong… Maker, be my witness.”

“Trick?” My heart sinks.

It’s not long until the rest join me around the prison. I feel a hand, belonging to Daylen, gripping my shoulder.

“Cullen, it’s me Daylen.”

“You sound like him, my friend… how far they must have delved into my thoughts.” Cullen’s voice is shaky.

“The boy is exhausted,” Wynne chimes in, almost rationalizing Cullen’s behavior. She observes the magic displayed in front of her. “And this cage... I've never seen anything like it. Rest easy... help is here. Let me see what I can—"

Cullen cuts her off. “ENOUGH VISIONS! If anything in you is human…” He whimpers. “Kill me now and stop this game.”

“HEY!” The young Templar flinches, but doesn’t look at me. “Don’t you dare say something, we’re here. We’re real, damn it!”

“He’s delirious.” Leliana joins me on the floor. “He’s been tortured… and probably has been denied food and water. I can tell.”

The bard takes something out of her traveling pack, a thin sack containing liquid and an elfroot potion. Curiously, she takes one of her arrows and pokes the barrier. The point phases through with no consequences. Leliana tests her finger next and the result remains the same. “Here I have elfroot potion and a skin of—”

“NO!” Cullen crawls away. “Don’t touch me! Stay away from me, filthy blood mage!” The movement takes too much energy from him. Breathless, he continues to yell. “How much longer… must this go on? Your efforts are in vain… I will _not_ break… I’d rather die.”

Disturb by his words, I snap. “Cullen!”

Finally, he looks at me.

“We’re not screwing with you! We killed pretty much everything in the area.” My eyes lock onto his, in a calmer tone I say, “Nothing is going to harm you now.”

Cullen contemplates before asking angrily. “Your father, what name would he call you? To get your attention…”

“My dad?” I’m confused by the question, and at a time like this. “Like a normal person, by my given name?”

“Typical answer,” He mumbles. Cullen resumes his praying stance and his eyes shut, ignoring his surroundings.

“He’s trying to get you to recall to one of your past conversations,” Daylen clarifies. “Magic is motivated by someone’s emotions. When forming an illusion, it focuses on their anger or desires. Never does it recreate chronological events.”

With this new knowledge, I pick up the conversation. "Usually he would. But you know sometimes, I get called Bekah.” I see his shoulder relaxing. It’s the worse time for humor, but it has to be said. “Or Osi, but can’t blame him. We both have wild fluffy hair. Practically twins… if I was a dog.”

Cullen has been listening. I get a wheezing huff from him, resembling a chuckle. So sad it hurts.

“Cullen, it’s really me. You’re safe now…”

He doesn’t resent, so I take this as a sign he believes me. “Are you still willing to give your skin?” I ask Leliana. The rouge nods and passes it to me, along with the health potion. I touch the barrier just as Leliana had done. It feels similar to running water. I only allow my hand to breach through, and I give the items to him. “Here, you’ll feel better.”

Leliana’s right about him being denied food and drink. The Templar chugs the elfroot down first.

“Are we finished coddling the delusional Templar?” Morrigan snarls.

“Don’t blame me for being cautious,” Cullen snaps. His normal voice returns. “The voices… the images… they felt so real.”

“We don’t,” I comfort him.

Cullen’s trauma and rational thought are not mixing well. He directs his anger towards me. “Ellen, what are you doing here?! Better yet, WHY are you here?”

“Why can’t anyone be happy to see me? Just once!”

He doesn’t take kindly to my bitter humor. “Neria was supposed to keep your safe! Where is she?”

“She’s fine, Cullen,” I assure him. I understand he’s been through an ordeal, but don’t appreciate the snippiness of his tone. “Neria is with the kids.”

“Where you should be!” He barks, “Safe from harm’s way!”

I glare, but bite back on my tongue.

“Return to Neria… no, go to the Knight-Commander. He’ll keep your safe. You cannot trust any mage!” Cullen rants, “Look what they’ve done to the tower. They deserve to die, Uldred most of all.”

In the corner of my eye, Daylen flinches.

“They caged us like animals. Looked for ways to break us.” Cullen goes quiet. “I’m the only one left. They turned some… into monsters. And… there was nothing I could do.” A small tear rolls down his cheek. He turns his gaze to Daylen. “To think I once thought we were too hard on _you_.”

Daylen says nothing to his trapped friend.

“Only mages have this much power at their fingertips to turn this tower into living nightmare. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whispering of demons—”

“This is a discussion for another time!” Wynne steps in. “Focus, young man, Irving and the other mages, where are they?

“They’re in the Harrowing Chamber… with Uldred.”

Wynne frowns at the mention name. “We must hurry then, if they are in grave danger, we must save them.”

Cullen retaliates. “You can’t save them! The sounds that came from there… oh, Maker, you don’t know what they’ve become! They’ve been surrounded by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts.”

Daylen speaks, “We have the Litany of Adralla. Their mind will break through the corruption.”

“So you haven’t lost your ability to speak!” Cullen hisses. “But I can’t say the same with your way of thinking! To ensure this horror is ended… to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.”

“I will not bath my hands in innocent blood,” Daylen argues.

“Are you really saving anyone by taking that risk?”

Wynne makes a turn to place sense in Cullen. “We know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry—”

“You know nothing! I am thinking about the future of the Circle of Ferelden!”

Daylen raises his voice. “Just as we are!”

“No!” Cullen argues. “I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore!”

In the heat of moment, Daylen rallies, “From where I am standing, I’m in the position to do what’s best for this tower! NOT YOU!”

Silence rains over us. My mouth drops.

Cullen recovers from his shock. “I’m…well aware of my predicament. I can’t directly influence your action. If you tend to deal with Uldred, then do so! No one ever listens, not until it’s far too late. Maker turns his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.” He turns his back to us and walks to the farthest corner of the light barrier.

Daylen does the same, and climbs the stairs up to the Harrowing Chamber. Slowly, everyone starts to follow. I’m the last behind, but Wynne stops me before I can step foot on the stairs.

“No, you are to stay here.”

“I’m starting to think you actually like the feeling of disappointment.”

Wynne is unamused. “We’re going into dangerous territory. There are no hiding places in the Harrowing Chamber. It’s an open room.”

“I have crossbow, and plenty of bolts to help, I’ve also taken down two demons… technically three. I killed one in the Fade. Give me some credit.”

“The Fade does not count. This means, you’ve only managed to kill one. What would have happen if Alistair hasn’t slayed the desire demon when he did?” Wynne snaps.

Point taken.

“Stay here, where it’s much safer. As you said before, every threat has been dealt with. Nothing should bring you harm.” The elder mage pats my cheek. “Please, Ellen.”

I frown, but agree.

“Ser Cullen could use the company… see what you can do to ease his anger…” Wynne ascends to the chamber room.

I peek over at the blonde Templar. His back is turned, and has made no effort to move from his spot. Doubtful he’s in a talkative mood, and honestly, don’t want to talk to him. I understand he’s traumatized. He’s hysterical from watching his friends die right in front of him and being tortured for days by hallucinations and starvation. But I can’t forgive how he acted towards Daylen, a man he called his friend.

I sit on the step and just… wait, bouncing my leg to get out my nerves.

A male scream echoes from the Harrowing Chamber, loud and painful.

“Daylen?!”


	8. Chapter 8

I wish I had thought this through.

The scene is engraved into my mind. A man, who I’ve mistaken for as Daylen, is screaming at the top of his lungs. I assume it’s one of the senior enchanters base off his old age and robes he’s wearing. Uldred, with the help from his turned minions, injects the senior enchanter with unstable magic. A white fog consumes the man, and bubbles appear boiling underneath his skin. He continues to scream as his flesh melts and stretches, reforming him into a larger being.

He stands in front of Uldred not as a man, but an abomination.

“This is what mages are meant to become!! This is power.”

Daylen disagrees. “No, this is corruption.”

I haven’t been seen by anyone yet, except Barkspawn. His sensitive dog hearing detected my presence. I see his ears rotate like a radar signal. The mabari cocks his head. His eyes soften in recognition, but he surveys the area around me. With no perceived threats, Barkspawn directs his attention to the enemy.

Daylen and his companions pay no mind to war hound’s curiosity as they are captivated by the confrontation presented to them.  Their backs are turned from the door I entered, and through the small spaces between their bodies. I see Uldred accompanied by abominations. He’s paler since the last time I saw him, white as a bleached sheet. Black veins cover his face.

The villain waves the back of his hand. "I’m afraid your opinion doesn’t matter. Uldred didn't think much of you then, and I certainly don't see your appeal now..."

Uldred takes a moment to study Daylen with a critical eye. He clasps his hands together. “But, you have impressed me by staying alive, unfortunately… that must mean you killed my servants.” He ponders for his lost. “Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence.”

“Serving man doesn’t mean enslavement!”

“And the Chantry has done well to blind you from seeing it as such.”

“Mages are to help mankind with sickness and progression!” Daylen argues.

Uldred counters in a condescending tone. “Their progression is circumscribed, and I am freeing them from that limitation! Your closed mind cannot comprehend!”

He shakes his head to show his disappointment. “A mage is but the larval form of something greater. Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential! Look at them. The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious.”

“You’re mad! There’s nothing glorious about what you’ve become, Uldred!” Wynne yells.

“Ah, Wynne, the Uldred you’re speaking to is gone,” the mage boasts. “I am Uldred and yet not Uldred. I am more than he was.”

I roll my eyes. He should change his Facebook relationship to _it’s complicated_ while he’s at it. It seems possessions usually are.

My next thought is, _turn back_.

It will only get worse from here, and I promised I wouldn’t interfere. Slowly and silently, I retreat to the door behind me.

“I could give you this gift.” Uldred proposes to her. He extends his hand with the offer. “You have already taken the step in unlocking your untapped potential. Accept it, and power can be obtained so much easier.”

Wynne refuses, she says so distastefully, “You truly are out of your mind.”

His nostrils flare out. “Resistance!” Uldred throws his hands in the air. “Everywhere I go, resistance! It’s very inconsiderate! You are just as stubborn as the First Enchanter.”

A groan echoes in the chamber.

I freeze as heads turn to the injured sound, instinctively, as does mine.

Irving is in a fit of coughs, and his hands are bound behind him. The senior enchanters are contained in one area of the room. Two are out cold, and the other three, including Irving, are currently struggling to get out of their restraints. Irving hunches forward while coughing, on his side is a dark color liquid seeping from his robes.

“Don’t mind the blood.” Uldred dismisses Irving’s condition. “He’s had a… hard day.”

Wynne lets out a horrified gasp. “What have you done to him?!”

The villain picks at his robes instead of responding to her angry cries.

“Stop him…” Irving’s coughing prevents him from raising his voice. “He… is building an army. He will… destroy the Templars and—”

With a wave of his hand, Uldred shuts him up with unfamiliar magic. Irving hunches forward once more, in pain. “You’re a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn.”

Irving throws up blood on the stone floor. I cover my mouth to prevent myself from screaming at the horrific scene.

The First Enchanter stutters, “N-Never.”

“That’s enough out of you, Irving. He’ll serve me, eventually.” Uldred turns his attention to Daylen. “Unlike your mentors, killing you would be a waste. You are young, your raw potential with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable. I can do that—I can give you power, and a new life. Do you accept my offer, or will you be a fool and resist?”

Like his elders, Daylen rejects Uldred. “Consider me foolish.”

After seeing Irving’s terrible condition, I can’t leave. We need him alive so the tower doesn’t undergo the Right of Annulment! The best I can do it pull him away from the fight once it begins, so he doesn’t get caught in the crossfire. Then, I can focus on how to stop his bleeding.

I head toward the First Enchanter, hiding behind broken pillars to remain undetected. My knees are starting to ache from the stealth crouching. Both parties are still exchanging heated words, and so I take the risk of going to Irving. I come up behind him and place a hand on his back.

In a startle, he whips his head over his shoulder.

“Ellen?” Irving’s voice is weak.

“Yeah it’s me. I’m here.” The sight of dark red catches my attention. The wound is worse than I anticipated. Blood is oozing from his lower abdomen. “Oh god, oh god, fuck shit you’re bleeding badly.”

Irving says with a steady tone. “I am fine,” but he flinches soon after.

“No, you’re not,” I say rather quickly and curse when it glistens. “I’m going to get you untied.” I take another look at the knot, and frown. “Somehow… can’t you use magic to burn through the ropes?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve exhausted myself.” Irving wheezes. “It has taken all my concentration to resist Uldred’s mind control.”

Right, because that would be too simple. My bolts won’t cut through theses. If only I had something sharp, like a dagger. I’m not familiar with knot designs, and it’s difficult to tell how this knot is being held together. I don’t know where to begin untying the rope.

“Wait… what do we have here?”

I shoot my head up and see all eyes on me. Wynne’s glaring stands out the most. Her unblinking stare sends a shiver down my spine. Or perhaps it’s because of how Uldred is addressing me.

“Who is your rescuer there, Irving?” Uldred curiously asks in a degrading tone. “An old apprentice?”

I gulp down my built up nervous spit. _Shit_.

“Stand up, woman,” he commands.

I don’t listen. Uldred then conjures a fire ball. The flames don’t appear natural. My hearts races when I see a mix green and purple swirling together, a color scheme I associate with as poison. This magic may be more powerful… and a lot more dangerous. “I said stand up or Irving will—”

“FINE!” Protectively, I stand in front of the First Enchanter. “Just… don’t hurt him.”

The magic disappears from his hands.

The asshole studies me before returning his gaze to my face. He doesn’t turn away, neither does he blink. Uldred’s unsettling stare seems harsh enough to be burning a hole through my skin. A shiver thought he might be looking into my soul. More shivers jolt down my spine when I notice the desire demon had seen at me the same way.

Finally, Uldred’s expression grows as if recognizing who I am.

“You’re her.” There’s a twinkle of excitement in his eye. Uldred points his skinny finger at me and wags it in lecture. “Oh, I have wanted to meet you! Imagine my disappointment when I did not see you next to Wynne. But…” He clasps his hands together to rejoice. “Here you are.”

Uldred gathers the attention of his abominations for his announcement.

“This is the woman who fell out of the Fade!”

At his words, my heart stops beating for a moment before jumping into overdrive. A shiver travels down my spine, and my eyes hurt from practically popping out their sockets.

Slowly, I turn my gaze to the rescuers. Wynne, as expected, is not phased but her expression grows dark and hardens with anger. The rest don’t hide their state of obvious shock. Leliana mouths the word “Maker.” Or so I think so. The most heart breaking one to see is Daylen’s. There is fear behind his wide-eyed stare, and his mouth is slightly open. 

“I…” I find my voice. “I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”

As if the damn stutter doesn’t give it away.

“You do.” He laughs maniacally. “You were the inspiration for all this!”

What…?

That can’t be true. Uldred would have done this, regardless of whatever reason… but that’s in game. Game logic doesn’t exist here, as I have to keep reminding myself over and over. I don’t know what driven this Uldred to committee his heinous act. Power obviously, it was how Loghain was able to persuade the mage in the first place. The teryn promised the Circle will be granted freedom from the Chantry. The mages would govern the tower.

But… was it because of me Loghain was able to convince Uldred so easily?

No.

 _No_ , that can’t be.

“I have had enough.” Sten’s strips off the two-handed weapon from his back. “The mage is no longer speaking sense. Let us end this.”

Leilana agrees with the tall man, as she pulls an arrow from her quiver.

“Does it scare you, Qunari?” Uldred taunts. Sten snarls, and curses at him in his native tongue. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s cursing, or he could have been intensely saying his grocery list...

Eh, doubtful on the lateral.

“I’ve seen her ascendance into this world through his eyes. Uldred was frustrated, confused, as to how a human came to be from the Fade. Unharmed. He wanted to possess that power. Uldred thought talent like that was wasted on a mere woman with no magic, and I tend to agree with him.”

My emotions begin to brew again. His speech is digging my grave deeper, and Uldred appears to be enjoying it. He exhales a large breath of air as if smelling a bouquet of roses.

“I sense your raw emotions regarding the Fade, woman.” The pride demon sighs, savors the moment. “Your anger, your desire,” excitably he shouts when looking at me, “And your pride! The sense you know better than those around you. You relish the idea of how the future will unfold. You bask in it! ”

He laughs as if he heard the funniest joke. “You’re just a walking SIN!”

And as always, my humorous thoughts have the worse timing. Because he’s not wrong, I live and breathe for fanfiction and Tumblr.

“I wonder… if infusing you with a demon’s power, you become a mage? Let’s test this theory. Bring her to me!” Uldred snaps his fingers. At his command, two abominations closest to me walk in my direction at a zombie pace, creepy sounds effects included.

Just like that the humor is gone and panic sets in; I whine.

“Ellen, you must leave.” Irving grunts.

“No! You will not lay a hand on her!” Wynne is the first to draw blood. She conjures her strongest arcane magic and it goes flying towards Uldred at rocket speed. A direct hit, however he barely flinches from any damage taken. His pupils grow and turn to black.

“You will regret that decision, Wynne.”

Uldred begins to grow in size. The clothes begin to tear off from the growth spurt, fabric falls off his body. His skin becomes a ghoulish purple and morphs into layers of spikes. Uldred no longer has just two eyes, but seven. Multiple horns spiral out of his head like hair, and his hands become disproportionate. His veins begin to surface, along with more spikes. His fingers are replaced with sharp black claws. With his transformation complete, Uldred becomes a true being of nightmares.

Never thought how screwed we truly were until the skyscraper-tall pride demon let out a ferocious roar.

I curse. “Fucking, shit.”

The abominations haven’t dismissed from their order. If I shoot them down now, Irving and the other enchanters will get caught in the explosion. I rather have that damage go towards Uldred. Last I checked that asshole isn’t fire proof.

“Let’s see how fast these bitches run.”

A plan formulates in my mind as I run to join Daylen and the rest. It takes me more steps than necessary to reach them, only to avoid being grabbed by the abominations.

“Ellen, you and I are going to have a _LONG_ discussion after this.” Wynne’s voice is laced with her most irritated tone.

“Openly admitting your kink of feeling disappointment? Wynne, I’m so proud!”

A disgusted noise erupts from Wynne’s throat followed by a heavy eye roll. She unleashes the wrath she has for me toward the abominations with arcane magic. Count my blessings Wynne didn’t annihilate me instead.

Cullen mentioned blood mages, but the only people present are the enchanters, Daylen, Wynne, and Uldred (does he still count?) I don’t see any other mages in the room. Slowly, I begin to realize how many abominations are actually in the room, too many.

Did that son of _dick sucker_ turn them all?

Shades grow from the cracks underneath us, bigger than the ones we’ve previously encountered. Leliana lingers with me as the rest spread out onto the battle and break through the barricade of Fade creatures to get to Uldred.

The demons are distracted, now is good as time as any to free the mages. “I’m going to need to borrow your dagger.” I say to Leliana. “I’m going to free the First Enchanter and everyone else. Get them out of the crossfire.”

“Quickly then,” The Leliana swiftly unsheathes one of the daggers clinging to her hip. “When you do, it’s best you stay by them. You’re cover as long as I have arrows.”

“Got it!” I take the weapon and make a dash for the enchanters. Lectures on never running with sharp objects in your hand are out the window. I approach Irving. The man is pale, extremely pale, and I fear it might be because of the how much blood he’s losing. I get behind him and cut his bindings off. Irving groans.

“Okay, First Enchanter, let’s get you out of here.” I swing my crossbow over my shoulder to rest on my back. Not sure where to put the dagger on my body. I have no visible belt loops, so I leave it on the ground. I get my hands under his arms. The old man grunts. “I’m so sorry in advance!”

I use all my strength to drag the man away from the battle. Overweight I may be, but my body has reserved muscle power, especially in my legs. Thank you, dad, for your strong Russian genetics and your enthusiasm for flipping homes.

I’m out of breath by the time I get Irving to the other side of the room, lean him against the wall. He leaves behind a trail of blood.

“Shit.” I curse and continue to do so when I bend down to examine him. I have nothing to bandage him up with. “How do I make you stop bleeding?”

“Get—” He wheezes. “Get Torrin.”

“Who?”

“One of the enchanters,” he clarifies.

“Is he a healer?”

“Yes, or rather he can perform healing.” The croak in his voice becomes raspy. He’s coughs into his hand. Blood escape his mouth. “He’s not Wynne, but he knows enough. He’s… he’s the one in the golden robes.”

“It’s good enough for me.” I rise to my feet and find the mage in the golden robes that Irving describes. He’s lying on the ground with a scrunching, pained expression. At least he’s conscious. I jog towards him and assist him with sitting up. He grunts and moans in the process. There is a dry blood spatter in the corner of his mouth. Other than that, I don’t see any other present wounds.

“Irving needs to be healed, can do you do it?”

“I’ve reached the point of exhaustion,” the man explains. “B-But for Irving, I’ll do what I can. Untie me.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I retrieve the dagger where I have left it last, and return to Torrin. However, in the few moments I’m gone, Torrin is lying on his back and crying out in agony.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I drop to my knees as Torrin thrashes out. Sweat is pooling from his forehead and his eyes are shut tightly. He lets out another groan, soon small streams of blood escapes from his ears and nose. “Oh, fuck!” I panic, there is man dying in front of me and I don’t know the cause. “What’s happening?!”

I’ve been paying little attention to the fight in front of me. As I look up, I notice the pride demon is posing. Its hand is extended out, as if reaching for something in our direction. I also notice the lack of abominations in the room. I put two and two together.

“DAYLEN!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “WE NEED THE LITHANY!” In the stumble of wording, I pronounce it like ‘little knee,’ but that the least of my concerns right now. I don’t even know if Daylen heard me over the sound of sword clashing and magic zapping. He doesn’t acknowledge that he has, all his focus is on the demon’s barrier of light. The demon trapped itself in for protection, and Daylen is doing what he can to break it down.

I call his name again, but my voice is drowned by the sounds of fighting.

Torrin’s muscle spasms become a full-blown seizure, his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

I chant the word “No,” over and over. Stinging tears are forming in the corner of my eyes. “Come on, pull through, please,” I beg as my voice cracks. I suppress myself from crying. I scream as Torrin’s body begins to grow in size. His tan skin is morphing into something unnatural and focusing his veins to surface. His crown braids fall off in patches.

His transforming is complete; replacing the mage is a horrid creature. It breaks out of its bonds with ease and its sight locks on me.

I crawl away from him.

Slowly, the abomination approaches. Its feet are dragging against the stone floor. In no time, I get up and sprint away to place more distance between us as fast as possible. I run in the direction of an unoccupied area, away from the main fight and away from Irving and the enchanters. The dagger I have in hand is dropped. I grab the crossbow that’s bound to my back, along with a bolt. The strap chokes my neck when rushing to take my weapon off.

I cock the string back. “Come on, come on!” The string keeps recoiling to its resting position, my fingers begin to swell and bleed. Damn metal work. After getting the string to stay on the spring clip, I hurry to load the bolt onto the groove. I shoot the abomination in the gut. He wails and stumbles back. The monster inspects his wound before continuing to advance.

The second shot isn’t any better as it goes through the shoulder. “Fuck me.” I reach for my quiver to locate another bolt. There’s only one left. “Oh really fuck me!”

I load my last bolt and carefully take aim. Third time really is a charm. It penetrates the creature’s eye socket. He stops in place, like a robot out of batteries. That’s my cue to book it. I pick up the forgotten dagger and run. The impact of the explosion is at my heels.

With no enemies after me, I return to Irving empty handed. “I’m sorry, Irving… I… I tried.”

“You are not to blame.”

“Am I?” I bend down to his level. “You heard, Uldred. I was the inspiration for all of this! I’m the reason the Circle is like this.”

“The Circle has had its problems long before you came along.” Irving winces when he applies pressure to his wound. His hand is covered in blood.

I frown. “I wish I had my bag, I have some poultice in there,” And fire bombs. What I wouldn’t give to throw all of them at Uldred. Similarly to what I did with Carver in Ostagar, I rip off a piece of my tunic. The stitches are not sown tightly together; I use the dagger to pluck the threading off the shoulder line. My long sleeve comes undone, and I pull it off my arm. For safe measure, I flip the fabric inside out.

“Here, maybe this will help with the clogging?”

I move closer to his open wound. The scent of copper fills my nose. I fall into a trance, focusing on keeping Irving alive. I force him to talk to me as I notice him falling into unconsciousness.

What breaks my concentrated state is a banshee screech so loud I flinch. My eardrums are ringing.

The pride demon falls on his knees, and his arms drop dead to his side. A lingering stillness in his stance, and then his massive body falls forward. It hits the ground and dissolves. Uldred’s naked body remains.

The battle is over. I sigh in relief. I haven’t realized how little I was breathing. My heart’s rapid pace begins to return to normal. I hang my head as the adrenaline is leaving my system. I’m pretty sure adrenaline coming and going like this doesn’t help with the stress to my body. In the aftermath, my arms are shaking and my hands become twitchy.

“It’s… it’s over.” I huff.

Alistair and Leliana assist the senior enchanters that are still alive, setting them free and investigating their current condition. Too focused on Irving, I’ve forgotten about their release. Morrigan wanders toward the husk of pride demon’s host and stares. However, a distraught voice catches my attention.

“Irving! Are you all right?” Wynne hurries to get to us.

Irving struggles to answer. “I’ve… ngh… been better. But I am thankful to be alive.”

Wynne bends down to his level. From her pouch tied to her waist, that I just now notice, she takes out a small vial of lyrium potion. Wynne pops the cork off and gulps every last drop of the lyrium. She tosses the empty vial and immediately her hands begin to glow. The elder woman places her hands on Irving’s bleeding wound. He hisses at the touch.

Daylen soon joins the conversational circle. Irving greets his old apprentice. Not exactly a hallmark reunion, considering the circumstances. But seeing the Irving getting treated, Daylen manages to sigh in relief and smiles.  

“I’m surprised to see you, child.” Irving coughs. Daylen places in hand on his mentor’s shoulder for comfort. “But I am glad you have returned, and for dealing with Uldred. The circle owes you… a debt that can never be repaid.”

“There is a way to settle the debt, but it is a discussion we can have after we inform the Templars the tower is safe, Master Irving.”

The First Enchanter grumbles. “Agreed, come, we shall let them know the tower is once again ours.”

“Not until I stop this bleed, Irving. Keep still or you’ll be making more work for me.” Wynne motherly scolds. Magic manifest at her finger tips and it seeps into the old man’s wound.

Once the bleeding stops, Irving struggles to stand on his own.

“I will help guide you down the stairs,” Daylen offers.

The Warden wraps his arm around Irving’s waist, and takes Irving’s arm place it on his shoulders for support.

“Ah,” Irving hisses. “Curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower. Maker, I am too old for this.”

The young mage chuckles at his former mentor’s complaint.

I don’t follow them straight away. Wynne takes my hands and begins to heal them, all while getting a lecture on how reckless I was (once again.) She even _inspects_ my ears because I’m that terrible at listening. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes.

“Troublesome is what you are.” She grumbles, shortly after she shows a lop-sided smile. “But thank you, for protecting Irving.”

 

* * *

 

The foyer looks like a convention center with surviving mages. It makes my heart swell up with happiness that so many are alive. Neria is in the middle, acting as mediator between the young mages and their older counter parts. The enchanters listen to the elf, seeing how the young people are flocking to Neria for guidance and concerns.

There are a few Templars that survived as well. They’re designated in the farthest corner, but keep a watchful eye on the mages.

Barkspawn bolts towards the kids and covers them in playful licks. The little giggling nuggets accept his affection as they surround him and pet him. The senior enchanters that Alistair and Leliana have been assisting are reunited with their pupils. They are relieved that their high ranks haven’t perished along with the tower. Morrigan fees the crowd the moment the mages start to express their gratitude. Sten makes his ways to the opposite side of the room, toward the exit and ignoring everyone who smile at him. With how _strict_ the Qun is with magic, I can imagine being surrounded by this many mages makes the big guy super uncomfortable.

One mage notifies Neria of our arrival.

The elven woman’s eyes become the size of dinner plates when she sees us. “Master Irving!”

She pushes through the crowd to greet her mentor. Heads turn in our direction. Any conflict between the young and old have subsided when they acknowledge Irving’s presence.

“The wound is stable,” Irving says as Neria notices the soaked blood spot on his side.

Her frown says she’s not entirely convinced, but she nods. Neria recognizes the man supporting Irving. The two stare at each other longer than a simple moment.

“I can stand on my own, child.” The First Enchanter removes his arm from Daylen. He places a hand over his wound, careful not agitate it. I walk right to Irving’s side in case he does need support. When the Grey Warden is sure Irving is standing, he returns his gaze to Neria.

Daylen smiles at his friend, but she doesn’t. Instead, she slaps him.

“Ouch.” I flinch from watching the scene. This isn’t how I pictured their heart-warming reunion.

Daylen holds his pink cheek to comfort the pain. He’s too shocked by her actions to speak.

“That was for not telling me about Jowan, and then assisting him with his escape!” She slaps his other cheek. “And that was leaving the Circle without saying a goodbye!”

“Neria, I—”

The elf pouts, but it melts away quickly into relieved smile. She pounces on him. Her arms wrap around his neck, forcing him to bend down to her level.  Neria speaks to him a softer tone. “This is for coming back to save us… thank the bloody Maker you’re alive.”

Daylen returns the hug, and for a few seconds they stay in their embrace. She kisses his cheek before pulling away and taking a close look at him.

“Blue always did suit you.” Neria’s smile grows looking at his uniform. He chuckles.

Irving, under his bushy beard, is also grinning. I assume he’s happy to see his two students reunited. “I’m afraid we must cut this short. Our priority is to see Greagoir.”

“Of course, Master Irving,” Daylen agrees.

Neria decides to join us. Petra and Kinnon are left to be the middle men during her absence. Alistair and Leliana excuse themselves from the flatters, a dust of pink are on the Grey Warden’s cheeks. Leliana teases and makes Alistair’s blush worse. Barkspawn stays behind to entertain the children. We find Morrigan in Sten’s company (so this is where she disappeared to!). They lead the charge as our small group heads towards the grand entrance.

“We have the First Enchanter!” Neria knocks on the barricaded double doors. “Open up!”

The Templars don’t answer.

She impatiently knocks again, but there’s still no answer. The elf stares at the silent Qunari and his muscles. “Daylen, you think your tall friend there can break these doors down for us? Oh, maybe you could help! You’re wearing some heavy armor.” She references to Alistair.

Sten replies with a scoff.

Alistair glances at Daylen with a raise eyebrow. “She isn’t serious… is she?”

“It would not be the wisest course of action, Neria,” Irving firmly states, his pupil only shrugs. The one that says _meh, it was just a thought_. I think she and my sister would have gotten along so well, Neria reminds me so much of Bekah.

“Irving?” The Knight-Commander calls from the other side of the door.

“Yes, it’s me Greagoir,” Irving announces. “It is over. Uldred… is dead.”

“Open the doors! Quickly!”

I hear shuffling of objects being moved away from the iron door, and soon they open.

We are greeted by a dismayed Knight-Commander as we are let through to the entrance chamber. The Templars stay alert with swords ready. I have an urge to raise my hands in surrender. Greagoir isn’t concerned with calling off his men. Like Neria, he’s drawn towards the First Enchanter’s wound. “Maker’s breath, I did not expect to see you alive.”

“If I am to be honest, I would have died without help.” Irving pats Daylen on the shoulder. “The Circle is back under our control, and those who threaten it are eliminated.”

The Knight-Commander digests the First Enchanter’s words. His detached-professional mask begins to crack. A smile breaks through.

“I will accept your assurance that all is well.” The Knight-Commander announces to his men, “We have won back the tower!”

The Templars cheer, their ready swords are in the air to rejoice. Head turns to each other with reassurance. I imagine they are smiling underneath their helmet. It almost picture perfect… almost, as there is one Templar who storms in and intervenes.

“Do not accept assurance so easily, Knight-Commander.” Cullen mercilessly makes his way to the middle. “Uldred tortured the mages, hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations. We don’t know how many of them have turned!”

All happiness in the room settles into an uncomfortable quietness. Irving is surprised by his allocations. “What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Of course he’ll say that!” Cullen injects. He narrows his focus solely on the Knight-Commander. “He might be a blood mage! They may have demons within them, lying dormant… lying in wait!”

“Enough!” Greagoir commands his silence. “I have already made my decision. It is mine to make, not yours.”

Cullen’s jaw becomes strained, he prevents from speaking out against his superior. The fuming Templar stomps out away with what little dignity he has left. I see Neria’s eyes watch the blonde Templar. She might have followed him, if Irving hadn’t beckoned her.

“I’m afraid there will be many others who feel the same way he does,” Greagoir worries.

Irving comforts his colleague. “He has been through much, like rest of us. We mourn for our losses and remember them while we rebuild this tower. The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it.”

The Knight-Commander nods and brings his attention to Daylen. “I… must apologize how I’ve acted towards you. You have always been respectable, Daylen. The Grey Warden-Commander made the right decision in recruiting you. My biased opinions could have ruined a good man.” Greagoir extends his hand out. “You have proven yourself to me. You’re still a friend of both the Circle, and the Templars.”

“T-Thank you Knight-Commander.” His words makes a shade of pink appear on Daylen’s cheeks.

Greagoir’s eyes land on me next. “It’s good to see you still live.”

“Yeah… well, I did say they could protect me and… I’m sorry.” The corner of my lips tugs at my face. I feel the dent of my dimple digging into my cheek. “You were right. The demons were drawn to me. I should’ve listened to you and stay put—”

“If you had,” Daylen interruptus, “We still might be under the Sloth’s demon control.”

Shaking my head, I disagree. “You would have broken through eventually.”

 “Maybe not in time to stop the Right of Annulment, or perhaps not at all, I am glad you came along.”

Irving and Neria are Greagoir’s eyes and ears of the tower’s state. They discuss which floors are in critical condition and how to make them livable. From what I’ve overheard, the kitchen is mentioned a quite a bit, as well as the apprentice living quarters. The Knight-Commander asked for Daylen’s input, since the Grey Warden has recently explored all floors of the tower.

Morrigan once again pulls away from the crowd. She finds an isolated wall and leans against it. A few eyes are drawn to her beauty as their heads turn. Some Templars are distracted by the Qunari. The helmets don’t hide their gawking well. Alistair is standing awkwardly among the Templars. The frowning and the constant eye shifting are gestures I know all too well. It’s the uncomfortableness of once being a part of large practice. The feeling I get when I’m surrounded by Jews. I can’t find Leliana, she’s disappeared.

Greagoir has gathered his Templars to give them orders to sweep the tower. There may be survivors that haven’t made it to the foyer, and they will need to be attended. Neria follows them as Irving asks her to get the children settled in first.

“Irving…” Greagoir addresses to his colleague. “It is good to have you back.”

“Ah, I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time,” Irving jokes.

 

* * *

 

I’m amazed with how quickly people come together after a disaster. I see mages organizing themselves into cleaning teams. There are talks of clearing out an area for the injured and checking on food supplies. Among the Templars, they have mention setting up a rotation in dispelling the Fade Flesh in the tower. Those who have the strongest muscles (along with strong stomach) have volunteered for the morbid task of deposing the corpses.

Daylen finds me in the apprentice quarters, making up beds with sheets that haven’t been ruined with blood.  

“Ellen, may we have moment?”

A knot of uneasiness wads tightly in my chest when he appears alone. I walk with precaution in his direction. Daylen leads me down the hall and into a small study room. Similar the one was in with Neria and Cullen.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I answer honestly. “It hasn’t hit me yet of what we’ve been through. I think I’m still running on adrenaline.”

I receive a lop-sided smile from him. “That is not hard to believe.” Silence fills the room. Daylen is entertained by his twiddling thumbs. “I wanted to—we should… discuss what was seen in the Fade.”

I frown. So it comes down to this.

Daylen guides me to table with chairs so we may sit to talk. “What do you all remember?”

“Almost everything now,” I ponder. “I was at my _Tia_ ’s and you were there, so was my sister, my dad, my dogs.”

“Your home is something I’ve never seen, or read in any book.”

“That’s not surprising…”

We fall into silence again. I purposely avoid his gaze and run my fingers into my tangled hair.

He softens his tone. “I’ve spoken with Neria beforehand as you mentioned you were with her in the library.” Daylen stops twiddling his thumbs, and laces his fingers together. In my peripheral vision, he stares at me. “You were studying the Fade? I’ve made the assumption it had to do with what Uldred said… tell me if I’m wrong?”

I remain silent.

“Neria did not believe so. She saw no harm in revealing her true research.” He pauses. “It’s an admirable goal to get you home… if perhaps ambitious considering you are from a different plane of existence, according to her.”

“You believe her?”

“She has a fasciation towards the Fade—”

The anticipation is making me irritable. I snap. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Daylen doesn’t recoil. “Yes. I believe her… and after seeing it with my own eyes, I believe you too.” 

I exhale a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding in. “Neria and Cullen are the only ones that know. I’ve tried to explain it to Wynne. She’s been supportive, but she has some doubts. Then again… I did go about it differently.” I remember my meltdown on the road during my journey to the tower.

The future Hero of Ferelden continues to ask questions, and I do my best to answer them.

We start from the beginning. It’s a painful subject, but we speak of Ostagar. I tell my story how the Fade dropped me there and Wynne is the first to come to my aid. I mention Uldred wasn’t too happy with my predicament, and I’d also confess why Wynne and I were with Duncan, to confirm I wasn’t a darkspawn.

He refers back to Uldred, asking if I truly knew what the future would hold.

“In a sense?” I describe it might be related to the _déjà vu_ I get. I give the same explanation to him as I given Wynne. My knowledge of events are based off dreams that I had in the past, however I can’t remember I dreamt about them until it actually starts to happen. It’s not a complete lie, because it does happen on occasion. This explanation seems to make sense to them, and I’m sticking with it.

So far, Daylen has been taking everything well. “It might be possible you’re sensitive to the Fade.”

“I’m Fade sensitive?” I snicker. That type of humor goes over his head, as expected. “Ignore me. It’s nothing. You have any more questions?”

“Not at the moment. I appreciate you indulging me with everything you can tell me. I need to meet with Master Irving regarding the Grey Warden treaties, but before I do, I feel I must bring this up. In the Fade, you had a friend with you. Do you remember?”

I raise an eyebrow when he mentions this. “I did?” Sabrina comes to mind. She was there, and then wasn’t, like she completely disappeared from my dream. “Oh, you mean Sabrina? To tell you the truth, I thought it was odd, but it makes sense she would be. She’s my roommate.”

“I’m sorry. Room… mate?” The word rolls funny off Daylen’s tongue.

“Um… yeah?” I guess the term _roommate_ is foreign concept in the medieval ages. “You know a person who you share a place with?”

“Like a bedfellow?”

I have never heard that word before. “A what now?”

“A bedfellow,” he repeats. “It is a person who you… share a bed with.”

“No, we don’t, but we share a bedroom?”

“O-Oh,” A blush forms on his cheeks. Suddenly, he reverts back his former self, that one I met at Ostagar. He’s a stuttering mess. “You’re in a chaste relationship, f-forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry it out you.”

It clicks, _person who you share a bed with_.

I slam my hand on the table we sat at and stand. “ _WAIT_! No. No, no, no! It’s not like that at all! A roommate is just someone who splits rent with you.” I feel a need to add on. “She’s my friend! My best friend! Nothing more! I’m single… very much single. Not in a relationship. At all…”

The awkwardness fills the silence.

Daylen recovers first. “I think I understand.” “Sabrina… I can assume she’s from same plane of existence you’re originally from?”

“Yes!” The heat on my cheeks still linger. “I mean… yes, she is. We’ve been friends for a while now, we’re pretty close.”

“Is your friend a… dreamer? When I spoke to her, she was very aware of her surroundings.”

“Yes? She’s told me before.”

I roll my eyes, but I smile. She mentions it to me every time a dream is brought up. She’s so damn proud of being a lucid dreamer. Honestly, I would be too. How neat for someone to control their dreams with just a thought?

What’s confusing me is why is he asking all these questions about my friend? It isn’t THAT strange for her to appear in my dreams. Maybe she left an impression on Daylen, and that’s why he’s curious?

Oh my fuck, is he crushing on my best friend?!

Daylen appears to be calculating what to say next. “It could be the connection you have with her, but she had a very strong presence in your dream.  The research you’ll be conducting will be time consuming and sensitive. You can’t afford to be distracted, so to set your mind at ease, I could look for your friend during my travels. Inform her of where to find you. She can’t be too far—”

 “Wait a sec?” I interrupt him. “Are you saying… that Sabrina here in THEDAS?!”

“She is possibly somewhere in Ferelden.”

My body becomes motionless as if all my muscles broke.

“Oh my god…” Are the first words to come out of my mouth as it drops.  I cradle my head, overwhelmed by the news. I step away from the table and pace in front of Daylen. “OH MY GOD! That is impossible! She’s shouldn’t be. Why the fuck is she here? _HOW_?!”

Millions of questions run through my mind. Was she at Ostagar? Why didn’t I see her? Where is she?

Daylen calms me with gentle words. He takes my hands into hands and puts a halt to my pacing. “Questions I will be sure to ask when I find her, and I will make certain to send her here to the Circle.”

 “No.” I shake my head. “No you won’t, because I’m coming with you.”

The Grey Warden frowns. “You have demonstrated your skills with the crossbow and I value your… insight. However, I’m afraid I have to say no, Ellen. With the rise of darkspawn… it is not safe out there. I cannot be held responsible for your life.” He pats my hands. “You are needed here, it’s best if you stayed.”

Daylen doesn’t allow me to argue back, doesn’t give me a chance. He stands up to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Master Irving.”

 

* * *

 

After a bath, some sleep, and a healing session with Wynne, I can’t think of a way to convince Daylen to let me travel with him. Wynne is no help. When I relay the news to her that Sabrina is in Thedas, she agrees with him. Wynne promises to keep an eye out for her as she’s accompanying him. She’s received permission from the First Enchanter to leave the Circle.

“Then who’s going to heal my eyesight?” I complain, after she cast a provisional spell for me to see clearly. She explains to me it will take a few sessions before my sight is better.

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements for someone to oversee your healing sessions. You will be taken care of.” Wynne gathers robes she’s taking for her journey from the closet, and starts to fold them. She won’t be leaving until late afternoon. “You may use my room in my absence.”

I frown. “So… that’s it?”

“You will be fine without me for a little while.” Wynne’s face softens. She stops what she’s doing to walk towards me. She reassures me with a pat on the cheek. “Ellen, we’ll do everything we can to find your friend, but you must be patient. Ferelden is a large land to cover.”

My frown grows. “I just don’t get it. If Sabrina is here, wouldn’t it have mean she was at Ostagar? Why didn’t I see her? How did she survive?”

“She might not have been at Ostagar at all.” Wynne concludes, “The ways your described your friend’s involvement in your dream, I’m certain she’s close by.”

This is driving me in circles. “Where? Can’t be Lothering, we were there.”

“She could be in Redcliffe.”

“Redcliffe?”

Well, _shit_.

“It is a village close to Lothering, and it’s not too far from the Circle. We’ll be making a visit there as Daylen and… Alistair? I believe that’s the young man’s name, have business with the Arl. Stay optimistic, we will return as soon we can.”

Wynne resumes to her packing.

Redcliffe, Eamon is the Arl there. My brain sorts through what I remember about the man.

In relation to royalty, Eamon was King Cailan’s uncle, and for a while Alistair’s guardian before Alistair was sent to the abbey. Daylen wants to appeal to Eamon for help against the Blight. Story wise, his soldiers weren’t present at Ostagar, and Daylen would like them to be part of the army that he is building to withstand the archdemon.

Though it’ll be difficult to get an audience with Eamon because Redcliffe is experiencing a similar ordeal to what the tower has just gone through. Their town is suffering nightly undead raids, and all caused by one mage…

Unlike Uldred, there is a way to save this mage.

This is something that can’t wait. I need to speak to Irving about it. Wynne hardly notices me leaving, or at least is not curious as to where I’m going. I walk at a brisk pace to the staircase. I make my way to his grand study, in hope he might be there. I hear rummaging of paper inside the room. Peeking from behind the corner, it’s the First Enchanter tidying up.

I would knock on the door. However, it seems to be missing. So politely, I call out to him. “Irving?”

The man appears to be better, changed into a set of cleaner robes. Irving smiles when he invites me in. “Ah, Ellen. Come in.”

I enter and walk towards him. He’s clearing his bookshelf and assessing the damage to the materials, but at a slow and gentle pace. My guess is because he doesn’t want to open his wound.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” As much as I’m glad he’s here, shouldn’t he be laying bed? I can see how he and Wynne are good friends, their busy bodies.

He chuckles. “I suppose I should give these old bones a rest, if for a moment.”

I drag the chair from his desk for him to sit. My nervousness must be obvious as one of his bushy eyebrows arches up. “Is there something you need, child? What is bothering you?”

“I should probably give this back to you.” I take off the amulet hiding in my shirt. “Daylen allowed me to borrow it, but it broke. I’m sorry.” I place the necklace in his lap. His thumb rubbed over the crack in the jewel.

“It has served its purpose in keeping you alive, and so I won’t grieve for it.” Irving takes another glance at my stiff posture. “But this is not the source of your worry.”

“Umm… I need small favor, Irving.” I smile to ease my nerves, because what I’m about to ask sounds… crazy. “Did Daylen tell you that he’ll be heading towards Redcliffe?”

Irving nods. “He mentioned it.”

“Is possible for you send a dozen mages to Redcliffe after he leaves? Like a day after… with a lot of lyrium?”

There are unraveled scrolls on the floor. While I asked, I picked up one of the scrolls roll it up. I’m careful to not let my palms touch the ink, I’m afraid the sweat might smudge it.

The First Enchanter curiously says, “Might I ask why?”

I fidget with my fingers. I’m tempted to pick up another scroll to keep my hands busy. “There is a boy, the Arl’s son. He… recently discovered he has magic. He’s being trained to hide his talents, but he’s possessed by a demon.”

Irving doesn’t take the new lightly. “Killing the demon would mean killing…” He falls into brief silence to think. “A group of mages and lyrium, yes… it can be done. There is a ritual to enter the Fade to confront the demon without harming the boy. This has been attempted only a few times through the Ages, and it isn’t publically well known.”

Irving’s staring makes me hesitate to answer. “It’s… a very long story—”

Our conversation is interrupted by hush voices entering the room.

“She is the reason why the Circle is in shambles! She can’t be allowed to stay!”

“She’s a danger to us all!” someone agrees. “She needs to be locked in the dungeons.”

“The dungeons? She needs to be sent to Aeonar!” another voice exclaims.

Three older mages notice my presence in the room. I recognize them from the harrowing chamber as the senior enchanters that were tied up. Two of them are shooting an angry glare in my direction, while the third is addressing Irving.

“First Enchanter, we need to speak to you on an urgent matter.”

“I’ll… I’ll be going then.” The tension in the room has me running out the door. I mumble an, “Excuse me,” when walking past them.

“First Enchanter, you cannot allow that... woman to stay any longer!”

I walk faster. I refuse to listen to what they have to say. I’d wish Daylen had said yes; now I’m worried what’s going to happen to me if I stay here. I return to Wynne’s room. If I tell her what I heard, will she have a change of heart about leaving me? We can possibly convince Daylen, together. Instead of seeing silver hair, I see blonde.

Neria greets me with a smile. “I hoped you be here.” She cut her hair short making her bangs seem longer. With her parted hair split down the middle, it’s obvious how even her trimmed bangs are. My staring makes her bashful. Neria tucks her bangs behind her elven ears. “Is it that bad?”

I shake my head. “Oh, no, it’s just different. Honestly, it’s cute.”

“Part of my hair was burnt, and… I might as well—” Neria runs her fingers through her hair nervously. “It feels… odd. I haven’t had my hair this short since I joined the Circle.”

She notices Wynne’s packed bag on the bed. “Master Irving said that Wynne was leaving, are you going with her?” Her tone is masked with disappointed.

“No, though I wish I could.” I sigh and tell her my recent discovery that my friend is in Ferelden somewhere, but Daylen cannot protect me from the dangers of Thedas. My desperation has Neria thinking.

“When Daylen says no, it means all possibilities weren’t presented to him. He isn’t comfortable saying yes to uncertainty. Give him more reasons, and he can be persuaded to change his mind.” Neria nods. “Let’s pretend I’m Daylen. Now, try to convince me.”

“Um…”

“Terrible start,” she teases.

“Okay… uh,” I struggle. “ _Daylen_ ,” –Neria snorts— “I appreciate you looking for my friend, but I really should come with you because… I have a crossbow. And also, I can… um…” I trail off as the next thing I’m about to say is extremely stupid.

“You can what?”

“I can… um… see into the future?”  I shrug and smile widely to mask my nervousness. My specialty, distract people with a dazzling smile and stupid comments.

Neria laughs, though I don’t think she believes me. “That’s not going to cut it, at all. Try again.”

I think back to the angry mages who went to talk Irving, and the possibility they might get their way scares me. “Because I don’t want to be in dungeons.”

She pauses to raise an eyebrow. “Who’s going to put you in the dungeons?”

“The senior enchanters want to lock me up. They know I came from the Fade.” I groan when placing my hands over my cheeks. The muscles from frowning are beginning to hurt my face.

“Master Irving won’t allow it, and he has the final say… well the Knight-Commander does, but he won’t allow that to happen either.”

“And if they complain enough, who’s to say the Knight-Commander won’t listen to them? It’s his duty to ensure safety in the Circle… I don’t know if I can take that chance. He may not put me in the dungeons, but he’ll put me in a room and I can’t roam around or have visitors. Might as well be a prisoner. I won’t be able to help with any research if I’m locked up.”

Neria hums as she covers her mouth. “Well, since some of the libraries have been burned… we will need to replace our damaged books.” She stares directly at me with a calculated look, and continues to stare as if she is hinting at something.

It dawns on me. “You’ll need someone to get you some book?”

“And I know the perfect person for the task.” A smirk curls on Neria’s face. “I’m looking right at her.”

I squeal in joy. “Neria, you’re a genius!”

“It’s too soon for thanking. You still need to convince him. It sounds to me he’s concern about being able to protect you. You’ll have to make a commitment to stay out of danger.  Words won’t do, you need an actual plan.”

She sparks an idea into my mind. “Bohdan!”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Bohdan, he’s a dwarven merchant traveling with Daylen!” I nod. “He usually stays out of trouble. If I promise to stay with him, problem solved! I can help Bohdan in selling his wares. I have a background in sales. This way I’m out of trouble, I can look for my friend, AND I retrieve materials your need research!” Overwhelmed with giddiness, my face now aches from smiling so big. “If this doesn’t convince Daylen, I have an offer that he can’t refuse! Whatever treasure he finds, I’ll be able to help him sell it.”

I didn’t think I could feel this way about excessive retailing service, but it’s actually going to save my ass.

“By the Maker,” Neria’s smirk grows, “I think she figured it out.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“I was going to meet up with him to say goodbye.”

“When?”

“Now.”

I haven’t felt this much happiness in days. It’s terrible of me to get my hopes up, but there’s a good chance he’ll say yes, especially with Neria as my back up. The possible outcome has me so excited I’ve started to pack my stuff, which doesn’t take very long.

Neria and I leave in search for Daylen. During our walk, I’ve noticed there’s little space between us. Our shoulders touch.

“Have you… talked to Cullen?” The elf asks, barely in a whisper.

“No, I haven’t.”

She nods, but the gesture is almost mechanical. Her shoulders stiffen mentioning him.

“What’s wrong?”

Neria crosses her arms. “I went to see him, and…” Her voice gradually gets higher. “He’s refusing to talk to me, in fact, he’s denying my existence.”

Her eyes become glassy. Neria takes a deep breath before she speaks. “Not that I was worried about him… for days, wondering if he was alive. I didn’t… pray in hope that he was. No, of course not because… because that would mean—” Neria sniffles. “M-Maker, that would be mean admitting I have feelings for him.” Fat tears are now rolling down her eyes.

We stop in our tracks. My elven friend hides her face in her hands. “I don’t know what happened to him, but he’s a completely different man. His eyes have no warmth to them… and it just – my heart aches so much.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hug her. She cries in my arms until she gains her ‘Neria’ composure. She straightens her back, along with her shoulders. Neria wipes her tears way.

“These tears are for Daylen. Understand?”

“Right.” I agree and we continue our way to find Daylen. Luckily, he’s not far. Daylen is found at the entrance of the tower with the quartermaster, discussing about supplies for his departure. Daylen spins his head when Neria calls out to him. He greets us with a smile. The quartermaster leaves to retrieve whatever was asked of him.

“Tell him what you told me,” Neria whispers and nudges me towards him. I flinch from her elbow poking at my side.

“Daylen,” I start after taking a deep breath. “Let me come with you.”

Daylen’s smile quickly disappears. “Ellen, I meant what I said.”

“But you said it yourself, I know how to use a crossbow and you value my _insight._ ” I see his words haunting him. “It can help you, a lot. You’re worried not being able to protect me, yeah? I have an idea for that.”

He sighs. “What is your remedy?”

“You have a merchant traveling with you, don’t you?”

His shock expression tells me, that yes he knows Bohdan and he is traveling with Daylen. “I have never mentioned him, how did you—?”

“I can stay with him. I have a background in retail. I’ll be able to help him sell his wares. This way, I’ll be able to stay out of trouble and earn my keep… so to speak. And I have one more thing to offer. Whatever goods you find on the road, I help you sell them. You’re going to need money, right?”

Daylen is considering all the points I’ve just presented, and I wait for his response. It’s like being in mock trials all over again. Waiting for the verdict is the worst, too much anxiety for me to handle.

“It’s feasible, but what of your research?”

“Master Irving and I are handling it,” Neria butts in, “Well, mostly myself considering the condition of the tower. Master Irving will be occupied restoring the Circle as it once was. I’m limited on what I can work on, so her traveling will be beneficial. She’ll be aiding me with field research by gathering material she thinks would be helpful. If I need anything, I’ll send a letter.”

I love her so much right now.

“Daylen, if I stay here there’s a chance I’ll be locked up. The enchanters think I’m a danger to them. As unfair as it is, they blame me for what happened here.” Concern is written on his face. His lip tuck into a frown. “I can’t sit around and do nothing. Not when I know my friend is in Ferelden. I have to find her because she might have an idea how we got here. Please, let me come with you,” I plea.

Daylen’s expression relaxes in a form of pity. “It’s difficult to say if you’re enthusiastic or… stubborn, but it shows how serious you are.” He lets out another sigh and nods. “You may travel with me.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Neria smiles and clasps her hand on my shoulder. “It is good thing we’re here. You’ll need some armor.”

“Shit you’re right.” My eyes widen at the realization.

The quartermaster master returns with Daylen’s request. The Grey Warden informs him that he will need some extra armor. The quartermaster takes me into the storage room. The first time I came in, I didn’t take good look around. All I could think about at the time was getting my crossbow.

He has a large collection of weapons and armor, mostly made for the Templars that live here.

The quartermaster asks me questions about my fighting experience, which is little to none. I prefer to stay away from combat, or that’s the plan at least. He must have a general idea what I need because he nods at some of my answers and goes to a selection of armor with padded fabric.

The man hands me a few things to try on. He and Daylen leave the room briefly as Neria stays behind to help me get into it.

The garment is similar to a padded jacket reaching down to mid-thigh. The long sleeves fit snugly around my thick arms. I stretch my arms in the clothing. There’s no constriction to my movements. I can move around comfortably, so I say nothing about the size. I like how it fit, anyhow. A gambeson is what the garment is called.

I’m given a large belt for my waist and put on a breastplate shortly after. I also imagine putting armor like this on would be heavy, it’s not. I jump up and down in it, testing its weight.

“Hold still, or it’s going to fall off,” Neria chuckles.

“Sorry, I never put something like this on before.”

I can run in this, that’s for sure. Matching mental vambraces are strap to my forearms. I admire them briefly before putting on a pair of skinny pant. Much to my surprise, they fit wonderfully. They are easy to move and bend in. My new knee-high boots completes the outfits. With Neria’s assistance, I tie leg plates to my shins.

This getup makes me feel battle ready, ready to take on Thedas.

“How does it all feel?” Daylen asks when he notices my attire.

“Comfortable.”

“I will add it to my trade with the quartermaster. Ellen, get your things and say your goodbyes. Make them short as we’ll be heading out soon.”

I nod as I gather my old clothes and shoes and return to Wynne’s quarter to get my backpack. Along the way say good bye to Irving. He is sad to see me go, but understands completely. The First Enchanter assures me he’ll continue looking into the magic that brought me here.

I leave the room on a happy note, but there’s one more I want to see before I set off.

 

* * *

 

“Cullen?” I call out the blonde Templar. I get no response as I walk into the Templar’s training quarters. I don’t know if he is here, but I don’t know where else he will be in the tower.

 Just like the rest of the tower, it’s in shambles, but someone has made an effort to pick up after it. Piles of rubble are pushed towards the wall; weapons and armor are placed back on their stands.

I see Cullen taking out his anger and his frustration on a wooden training dummy. Instead of wearing a uniform, he’s dark colored breaches and a simple tunic. His long sleeves are rolled up, his bare knuckles beating against the faceless dummy.

He’s covered in sweat, telling me that he’s been at this for some time.

“Cullen.” I make another attempt to get his attention.

Cullen glances in my direction briefly before striking the human size doll.

I don’t appreciate being ignored purposely. I huff when I set my backpack down on the ground, and walk towards him in a fit. “Damn it, Cullen!”

I appear right next to him and the dummy.

“Don’t ignore me. In fact, you need to talk to someone!”

“There is nothing to speak of.”

 “You were tortured for days, and you’re telling me that it’s nothing? If it was nothing you wouldn’t have treated Daylen the way you did, so excuse me if I’m calling bull _shit_!” I’m still steam about the matter, but I bite my tongue to prevent myself from making any more comments.

Cullen continues to take out his frustration on dummy.   

“You’re angry.” I point out.

This makes him pause, then scoffs. His fist collides with the dummy’s jaw. There is more force behind that punch. _Angry_ might be an understatement.

“I get it, so is everyone else here. They are angry and in mourning for what happened here at the tower, myself included.”

“This is not your home,” Cullen states. A sweat drop trails from his brow.

My eyes squint. “Does it have to be in order for me to sympathize?”

The young Templar takes a break away from punching, but is scowling in silence. He wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. Cullen looks careful not to agitate the cuts around his lips and bruised nose.

Calmly, but angrily, he says, “Do not sympathize with the mages for what they have done.”

“One mage, Cullen,” I remind him. “Uldred was one mage.”

“He had supporters, he had help,” Cullen snarls. I hate the fact that he brings up a point. “And for all we know, they are still alive and waiting in dormancy for their next scheme. What then? There is one Templar for a dozen mages. This would be the perfect time for them to overthrow us for the tower. We are outmatched.”

“The mages are not like you and I… they should not be treated as such.”

His words make me stop breathing for a moment. “Treated as…” Cullen’s thinking bubbles an angry response from me; the same type of anger that given me the title of “ _Five-Two of Fuck You”_ by my sister.

“Do you fucking hear yourself?!” I suppress the urge to slap him. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but guess what I’m going to! I’m pissed how you lashed out at Daylen. He didn’t deserve that! And now Neria?! She told me you were denying her existent. Cullen, she has done nothing but worry about you! Fuck, if she heard you say this kind of crap—”

“Why bring her into this?”

“Why bring—?” I raise my hands in the air. “Are you shitting me? BECAUSE YOU FUCKING CARE ABOUT HER?! At least that’s the impression I got.”

Cullen falls into short silence again.

“Fraternizing with a mage is against regulations… and now I understand the dangers as to why.”

“So what? That’s it? You’re just going to cut all ties with a girl you like because she’s a mage?!”

His expression is unreadable, but his silence tells me he’s serious. My heart sinks thinking about Neria’s broken heart. She had to endure an ache like this when talking to Cullen.

There is no getting through to him, and I shouldn’t be surprised, but doesn’t hurt any less. This will only get worse from here on out. He will eventually cut off all ties to his personal feelings. His personality, his mind, will all belong to the Templar Order. The Chant of Light will be his sense of right and wrong, his justice. I’m witnessing the birth of the non-empathic future Knight-Captain.

“Right…” Not much else to say now. “There was a reason I came.”

“I wish not to talk anymore.” Cullen says harshly as he walks towards a different training obstacle “Say what you will, and leave.”

I frown as I follow him. “I came to say goodbye.”

This makes him stop in his tracks. The young Templar turns to me fully. His eyes are staring at my new cuirass. His angry soften slightly. “You’re leaving? Did the first enchanter —”

“No,” I interrupt him. “No, he hasn’t discovered a way for me to return home. I’m leaving with Daylen.” I tell him before has a chance to ask why. “I… I can’t stay here. The senior enchanters know my involvement with the Fade. Uldred or the demon that possessed him told them.”

And so does Daylen’s companions. Oh, this is going to be a fun conversation to have on the road…

“They’re not too happy with Irving… or me. In fact, they want to lock me up. How you view mages” – I hiss, out of pettiness— “is how they view me, a demon… an abomination, something dangerous.”

Cullen says nothing.

I shake my head. “So, I’m making this easy for everyone by leaving. On top of that, there’s news that my roommate—my friend is here in Thedas. I need to look for her.”

“She’s… where you’re from?”

I cross my arms. “She is. Sabrina is her name. She’s in Ferelden… somewhere. I’m planning on bring her here.”

“And how did you obtain this news?” He asks suspiciously.

“Daylen met her during his travels.” In the Fade, but considering his feelings towards magic, I leave that part out. “I’m hoping he’ll cross paths with her again.”

I begin to walk backwards towards the exit. “Anyways… take care of yourself, Cullen.” As resentful as our conversation is, I do mean it.

No farewells from him, as expected. A tear rolls down my cheek when I reach for my backpack. I recognize my temper has got the best of me, and guilt rests at the pit of my stomach. I can’t fully empathize with his trauma. Irving undergoes the same torment, he watch Uldred turn his colleagues into abominations. Greagoir has lost his charges, and he will mostly be the one responsible for inform the families. He doesn’t seem to have a grudging hatred toward magic.

This goodbye is just as bitter as it was leaving the Hawkes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I got this far, it feel like a mile stone to me. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to write that many chapters for it… actually there were a lot of thing I wasn’t from this arch (can I call it that?) But that’s writing for you, and I’m just going to go with it. Thank you roommate for beta reading and for cheering me on as well as you guys for leaving such nice comments. They really inspire me to write more.
> 
> I didn’t get my dream position, and I’m not as soul-crushed as I thought I would be. It might be because I already feel I’ve hit rock bottom? A lot of issues came up the past couple of weeks and I’ve been juggling to maintain my sanity. I’m trying to let the stress get the best of me.
> 
> Until next time, my friends!


End file.
